Category: English

My boyfriend left me to die in a burning building so he could save his first love. Consumed by the roaring flames, I was reborn on the exact day he confessed his feelings to me. Amidst the roaring cheers of the crowd, I rejected him. I turned and walked toward the lonely, quiet boy standing at the edge of the crowd. But my boyfriend tightly grabbed my wrist, his voice trembling: “Didn’t you say you were going to marry me when we grew up?” 1 “Say yes! Say yes!” When I opened my eyes, Caleb was holding a massive bouquet of red roses, looking at me with a confident smile. Yet, my mind was flooded with the agonizing memory of being swallowed by the fire. I remembered watching Caleb firmly scoop up his first love, Chloe, into his arms. He walked away so decisively, without leaving even a single glance for me. In my despair, I begged the heavens: If I am ever given another chance, I will never choose him again. I will stay as far away from him as possible. Suddenly, a voice echoed in my head: “Are you sure?” I answered with absolute unwavering conviction: “Yes.” And just like that, I actually returned to the day Caleb confessed his love to me. 2 Caleb and I were childhood sweethearts. The whole world knew I loved him. At the beginning of our senior year of high school, he confessed to me after evening study hall. That night, I thought the paper-thin barrier between us had finally been broken, and that our feelings were mutual. It was only much later that I found out his confession was just a petty act of retaliation against Chloe. Throughout college, and even after graduation, he remained endlessly entangled with her. Every time he had to choose between us, I was always the one left behind. I finally woke up, asked for a divorce, and unexpectedly had Chloe show up at my door to provoke me. Then, the fire broke out. I waited for a rescue that never came, watching Caleb carry Chloe out without looking back. In that moment, my heart completely died. So, this time, amidst the cheering crowd… I rejected him. The noisy school courtyard instantly fell dead silent. It made sense. In my past life, I had always been Caleb’s shadow. I chased after him, catered to his every need, brought him breakfast every morning, handed him water during P.E., bought his school supplies, organized his test papers, and waited for him after study hall so we could walk home together. Anyone with eyes knew I was madly in love with him. Caleb’s face instantly darkened. “Harper, say that again?” I looked at him and sneered. “I could say it a hundred times, and it would still be the same. Caleb, I don’t want to be your girlfriend, and I don’t like you. I’m a senior now; I just want to focus on my studies.” The entire crowd gasped collectively. Whispers rippled through the onlookers: [I’d believe I was the Queen of England before I’d believe Harper doesn’t like Caleb.] [She’s probably just playing hard to get.] [But getting rejected in public… Caleb looks like he’s about to explode.] I didn’t want to be the center of attention, so I turned to leave. But Caleb grabbed my wrist, suppressing his rage. “Harper, what kind of crazy act is this?” What kind of crazy act? Maybe he should ask himself that. When Chloe came to me in my past life, she smugly told me that he only confessed to me because he was mad at her. They had gotten into a fight, and Chloe started flirting with another guy in her class. Furious, Caleb turned around and confessed to me. He did it because he was absolutely certain I loved him and wouldn’t reject him. He wanted to force Chloe to yield, so he weaponized my feelings. I looked down at my wrist, which was turning red, and peeled his fingers off one by one. I pointed at the girl standing at the very back of the crowd. “Aren’t you in love with her? You two get into a lover’s spat and use me as a pawn to make each other jealous. What, do I look like a willing sacrifice to you?” 3 For a split second, Caleb froze in place. He watched Chloe turn and walk away, then snapped his gaze back to me, a warning in his eyes. “Harper, are you done throwing this tantrum? This is between us. Why are you dragging other people into it?” I’m throwing a tantrum? His defensive posture only confirmed the absolute truth of my words. I shook off his hand and stared at him, enunciating every word. “Caleb, do you not speak English? I said, I do not like you.” He sneered. “If you don’t like me, who else could you possibly like?” Seventeen years of history gave him the blinding confidence to believe I could never live without him. But I had fought tooth and nail to return to my senior year. I only wanted to live for myself now. I walked past Caleb, heading straight toward the quiet, lonely boy standing behind him. It was Liam, the valedictorian of our grade. I stood next to him and looked back at Caleb. “I like studying. I want to get into MIT.” Then, I turned to Liam. “Hey, academic god. I might need to ask you for a lot of tutoring from now on.” 4 After I rejected Caleb, we entered a cold war. Everyone was placing bets that I wouldn’t last a single day before crawling back to him. I just laughed. And placed a bet myself. [Forever.] [No way, did Harper take the wrong meds?] [Just quietly, Caleb is practically foaming at the mouth. Harper didn’t bring him breakfast, and he’s already thrown a fit three times during morning homeroom.] That was none of my business. All I wanted to do was study. All I asked was for him to stop bothering me. I actually had excellent grades in high school. But in my past life, after getting together with Caleb during senior year, I purposely slacked off so I could stay in-state with him. I found out later it was because Chloe was staying in-state too. He did it on purpose. Opening my backpack, I realized I still had the expensive matching stationery set I had prepared for Caleb. As I pulled it out, I heard Caleb’s desk-mate snicker, “See? I told you. She couldn’t even last the morning.” Caleb wore a smug, arrogant expression, clearly waiting for me to walk over and hand-deliver it to him. Instead, I took all the supplies out. And turned to my desk-mate, Liam. “Hey, valedictorian. A little preemptive bribe. I’m going to be relying on you a lot.” Honestly, in my past life, I didn’t interact much with Liam. He seemed to spend every waking second studying. I occasionally asked him a question or two. But since I knew my score was more than enough for the local college I aimed for, I eventually stopped trying. I faintly remembered him asking me once where I wanted to apply. Back then, my heart and soul were entirely consumed by Caleb. I pointed in Caleb’s direction and said, “Wherever he goes, I go.” Liam hadn’t said anything else. Now, as I handed him the stationery, he lifted his eyes to look at me. His cool, distant gaze held a hint of quiet observation. I smiled openly. “Sorry if this is too forward. If you don’t like it, I’ll just throw it away.” Hearing the words “throw it away,” Caleb’s face turned incredibly ugly. He aggressively kicked the leg of the desk in front of him. But to my surprise, Liam simply said, “Thank you,” and accepted it. 5 Only after I decided to study hard and distance myself from both of them did I realize how far my current level was from my dream university. But I absolutely loved the feeling of wrestling with a brutal math problem until midnight, feeling like I was dying and coming back to life. I loved discussing different ways to solve a problem with the top students, and the rush of clarity when it finally clicked. It turned out that a life not centered around Caleb was actually incredibly fun. Soon, the Senior Pep Rally arrived. In my past life, I was pushed onto the stage and encouraged to publicly confess to Caleb. What did I say back then? Oh, right. I said that youth should be lived without regrets, that you should love whoever you want to love, and that I was confident Caleb and I would get into the same college, so we should spend the rest of our time enjoying the beauty of our school days. The whole school was in an uproar, and our parents were even called to the principal’s office. Thinking back on it now, I wanted to punch my hopelessly romantic, idiotic past self. This time, I stood quietly in the crowd, silently memorizing vocabulary flashcards, trying to make myself invisible. But during the open-mic segment, a girl in my class suddenly shouted, “Harper took broadcasting classes! Let her go up and say a few words for our class!” Others immediately chimed in: “Hilarious, is she gonna go up there and confess to Caleb again? So embarrassing.” “Didn’t she reject Caleb? Is she trying to use this to make peace and confess her feelings?” “I bet she doesn’t have the guts, haha.” “Yeah, she definitely wouldn’t dare.” “It’s so annoying. She placed a bet herself that she wouldn’t crawl back, but she’s still just a desperate lapdog.” I took a deep breath. I knew this was coming. They all wanted to see me make a fool of myself. I understood why—after all, the “old me” revolved entirely around Caleb. Even Caleb himself probably thought I was just throwing a prolonged temper tantrum. But only I knew how incredibly precious this second chance at life was. I turned to look at Caleb, who was standing a short distance behind me. Our eyes met. Wearing his school uniform, he looked arrogant and self-assured, his chin tilted up slightly, seemingly waiting for me to step onto the stage and publicly declare my devotion to him, washing away the humiliation of my previous rejection. Out of the corner of my eye, I also caught Liam’s gaze. For some inexplicable reason, I actually felt a little guilty. Encouraged by the teachers, I stepped out and slowly walked up to the podium. Behind me, the whispers continued: “If Harper doesn’t confess to Caleb today, I’ll lose all respect for her.” “My boy Caleb always wins. You just can’t spoil women.” “…” Looking out at the massive sea of students, I adjusted the microphone and spoke with bright, confident clarity: “Respected teachers, dear classmates, good morning! I am Harper from the Senior 1 AP Class.” “The September osmanthus is blooming. As we begin our senior year, carrying the hopes of our teachers and the weight of our own dreams, standing before the dawn of our college admissions exams, I solemnly pledge: The sharpest sword is forged in the hottest fire, and the sweetest plum blossom blooms in the bitterest cold. We have sharpened our blades for years, waiting for the moment to conquer the peak. I will give it my all and not waste my youth. I hope everyone here perseveres to the end, fights hard for this one year, and lets your dreams set sail!” I was greeted by a thunderous standing ovation. In my past life, when I finished that embarrassing confession, all I heard were whistles, mocking laughter, and boos. I had finally changed the trajectory of the story. But to my surprise, after the rally was dismissed, Caleb cornered me. “Harper, we need to talk.” 6 “I have nothing to talk to you about.” I didn’t even give him a second glance. I walked straight toward the classroom. Caleb chased after me, grabbed my arm, and ignoring my resistance, dragged me toward the edge of the football field. “What is wrong with you?” He frowned, interrogating me. I didn’t back down. I shook his hand off. “How many times do I have to say it before you understand? I just want to study.” I turned to leave. He threw his arm out to block me, his eyes filled with disbelief. “If you want to study, fine! But why aren’t you bringing me breakfast? Why did you give the things you bought for me to someone else? Why aren’t you waiting for me to walk home after study hall? Why did you rej—” He didn’t finish the last word. So I finished it for him. “Why did I reject you? Do you think you’re a hundred-dollar bill? Why wouldn’t I reject you?” He was furious. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw jumped, struggling to keep his temper in check. Right. In the past, he was always the one rejecting me. He stood on his high horse, caring only about his own feelings. He soaked up all my unconditional love, and then gave all his love to someone else. And as for me, as long as he tossed me a crumb of affection, I would gratefully eat it up. I used to be such an idiot. An idiot who acted like every other man in the world had died except him. After a long silence, Caleb finally spat out, “Harper, you never used to be like this.” I looked up at him. “Caleb, I was blind to ever like you. Go ahead and fly off into the sunset with your precious Chloe. Stop buzzing around my face like an annoying fly.” I walked away. From behind me, I heard Caleb’s low, angry shout: “Fine, Harper! Don’t regret this.” 7 Ever since our bitter fallout by the football field, every morning, Chloe would walk up three flights of stairs just to deliver Caleb breakfast. During the main recess, she would thoughtfully bring him drinks. During our combined P.E. classes, she would even wipe his sweat and feed him water while he played basketball. Soon, the whole school was gossiping that they were a couple. And Caleb never denied it. Some nosy classmates still came up to ask me what I thought about it. I was in the middle of a brutal battle with a physics problem. Hearing the question, I just replied flatly, “That’s great. I hope they lock it down so they don’t ruin anyone else’s life.” Unable to solve the problem, I used my pen to poke Liam in the arm. I pushed my test paper over. “I only got the first step down, I have no idea how to do the rest.” Liam glanced at the problem, and his long, elegant fingers picked up a pen. Seeing he was about to explain it, I quickly grabbed my notebook and leaned closer. I thought I saw a fleeting smile cross his lips. “For this problem, we need to use this formula. Let’s break down the prompt first…” I had to admit, Liam truly lived up to his valedictorian title. Coming from him, these insanely difficult problems suddenly made perfect sense. In a few sentences, he completely untangled my logic. I took the opportunity to slide my entire notebook of mistakes over to him. “Could you look at these too? I understand some of them now, but I still can’t find the underlying pattern.” He took the notebook from my hands, our fingertips brushing. His hand was so cold. I quickly pulled mine back. He looked at the problems I had copied down with intense, focused seriousness. I suddenly remembered my past and realized what an absolute fool I had been. The academic god was literally my desk-mate, and my brain was entirely occupied by a high school romance. I deserved to fail! Just as he was about to speak, I leaned in a little closer. Without warning, a basketball came flying out of nowhere and slammed into me. The next second, a blinding pain exploded in my nose, and warm liquid started gushing down my face. Before I could even see who threw it, a gust of wind rushed toward me. Caleb forcefully grabbed my head, tilting it upward. He rapidly yanked some tissues from a pack and pressed them against my nose. His voice was laced with an indescribable panic. “Does it hurt?” Then he grabbed my arm, trying to drag me toward the restroom. I violently yanked my hand out of his grip and glared at him coldly. “Caleb, what the hell is wrong with you?” 8 I picked up the basketball by my feet and hurled it as hard as I could right into his chest. He didn’t dodge. He stood perfectly still, looking down at me, then glanced at Liam sitting beside me. He sneered, “Harper, is your love really this brief?” Brief? I almost laughed in his face. In my past life, I revolved around him for over twenty years. When we got married, he cried and swore he would be with me for eternity, promising he’d never let me suffer. I believed him every single time. I enabled him every single time. Because he had been a part of my entire existence. I naively thought growing old with him would be the most romantic thing in the world. But I overestimated him, and I underestimated my own feelings. My heart felt a sudden, sharp ache. But I still met his gaze head-on. “Caleb, everyone knows you and Chloe are dating. Date whoever you want, but why are you dragging me into it? Am I just a prop in your little couple’s game?” My voice wasn’t overly loud, but it was loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear. A wave of muffled laughter rippled through the crowd. Caleb panicked. He reached out to grab my hand to explain, “I am not dating her.” I dodged him, turning my body away. “Oh, so you’re just stringing her along too? You’re absolute trash.” “I’m not! She’s the one who keeps initiating it.” Just as the words left his mouth, a loud thud echoed from the doorway. Chloe stood there, her eyes rimmed with red. The drink she had brought for Caleb was spilled all over the floor. She wiped the corner of her eye, turned around, and ran. I saw Caleb’s hands clench into tight fists. The next second, he sprinted after her. 9 After I sat back down, Liam pulled a wet wipe from his bag and handed it to me. “Do you want to go to the restroom?” I shook my head. “No, it’s fine.” Some blood had dripped onto my pants. It was already drying into dark red spots. I took the wipe and carefully tried to clean it, but the stain wouldn’t come out. It was strange. I hadn’t been thinking about anything at all. Yet, my eyes uncontrollably began to burn. I quickly lowered my head. Even though I was the one abandoned in every choice he made in my past life… Living through it again still hurt. But I figured it was just an involuntary reflex from the twenty-something-year-old Harper inside me. So I dug my fingernails hard into my palm until a sharp pain shot through me. I silently repeated to myself: Seventeen-year-old Harper, this time, you have to win. A moment later, Liam’s clear, calm voice broke the silence. “There are a few different ways to solve these problems. Do you want to hear them?” I quickly wiped my face with my hand, lifted my head, and flashed him a massive, toothy grin. “Yes!” That night during study hall, Liam pushed his meticulously organized physics notes in front of me. “You might need these.” I opened the notebook. It was filled with his neat, elegant handwriting, summarizing every core concept and its classic application problems. In his past life, he got into MIT. I heard he moved back to our hometown after graduating. I didn’t know why. I wrote a note and slid it over to him: “Liam, do you think if I start trying hard right now, I can get into MIT?” He unfolded the note. The warm white light from the desk lamp illuminated his face, casting thick shadows from his eyelashes. Below his straight nose, the corners of his lips curved upward. He picked up his pen. My heart was in my throat. I was terrified he would write back: “At your level? Highly doubtful.” But when he slid the note back, there was only one word. “Yes.” 10 Maybe it was because my desire to change my fate in this life was so overwhelming, or maybe it was the validation from the ultimate academic god. A blazing fire of determination ignited inside me. I started organizing notes for every subject and breaking down the core concepts. In the past, I relied on being somewhat naturally smart, so I only ever half-understood a lot of problems. Now, I started from the absolute basics, chewing through the textbook material until I truly understood it. Taking full advantage of sitting next to Liam, I ruthlessly exploited my access to this genius resource. I even added his contact info so I could conveniently ask him about difficult problems after hours. He rarely posted on social media, but the only thing that kept appearing on his feed was a potted sunflower. Maybe that sunflower held a special meaning for him. Just like how Caleb used to post vague pictures of white gardenias—which translated to “Zhi” (Chloe’s Chinese name) in my past life. I eventually understood it meant Chloe. Come to think of it, Chloe hadn’t come to bring Caleb breakfast lately. But surprisingly, a carton of yogurt and a pastry appeared on my desk. I asked Liam, “Is this yours?” He shook his head. The girl sitting behind me poked my back and whispered, “I got here early. Caleb dropped it off.” Tsk. They get into a fight, and he comes running back to me to validate his existence. I didn’t even turn to look at him. I walked straight to the back of the classroom and threw it in the trash can. When I walked back, Caleb stuck his foot out into the aisle to block me, his eyes harboring dark anger. “Harper, what is your problem?!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pointed at the trash can. “I bought that breakfast.” “Oh.” “Oh? That’s your only reaction?” It actually made me laugh. “Caleb, did you get possessed by an alien? It’s just breakfast. What kind of reaction do you want? Do you want me to get on my knees and bow to you?” His eyes widened in fury, completely exasperated. “Harper, haven’t you thrown this tantrum long enough? What do I have to do to get you to talk to me?” I crossed my arms, shot him a sideways glance, and threw the exact words he used in our past life right back in his face: “Are you ever going to stop? Go find a hobby. I’m busy.” Then I stepped over his leg and sat down at my desk. Caleb lowered his voice. “Fine, Harper. Have it your way!”

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During the most desperately broke year of my life, I used an anonymous alt account to cyberbully the university’s arrogant billionaire heir every single day. [So what if you’re handsome? You still just have two eyes and a nose.] [Wearing that white button-down every day like you’re starring in a movie. Stop acting so pretentious.] [I hate fake, high-and-mighty rich people like you the most! Why isn’t your money mine?!] [I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!] Later, my phone broke and I had to send it in for repairs. When I finally turned it back on a few days later, my messages exploded. The billionaire heir: [Why didn’t you say you hated me today?] [Did you find a new target?] [Are they sexier than me?] [Image: v-line_abs.jpg] [Or do they have more money than me?] [Image: bank_account_balance.jpg] [I’m not showing you this for any specific reason. Don’t overthink it.] [Actually, you can overthink it if you want.] [But I’m not easy. Only my girlfriend gets to enjoy my body and my money.] [Seeing as how desperate you are for cash, I suppose I could consider you.] [But you have to make the first move.] [Say something.] [Fine, you win. I accept your pursuit.] [Baby, what are you doing? Come pay attention to your boyfriend (‘ε`)~] Me, staring at my newly fixed phone: [?] 1 I was an incredibly broke, deeply cynical college student. My mother was severely ill in the hospital, and my father was drowning in gambling debts. Every dime of my college tuition was paid for by student loans. While everyone else was enjoying the golden years of college—eating out, partying, traveling, and taking selfies—I was grinding through four or five part-time jobs a day just to survive. I was worked like a dog. Every night, I’d drag my exhausted body back to the dorms, only to be forced to listen to my rich-girl roommate casually flex her lifestyle. Which elite gala she attended, what artisanal pastries she ate, which luxury designer bags her endless line of suitors bought her. After working myself to the bone all day, I’d lie in bed, physically exhausted and desperate for sleep. But listening to her brag made my eyes burn with so much jealousy I couldn’t close them. I had to scrape together tuition for the next semester. I had to stay hyper-vigilant against the debt collectors showing up at our door. On my phone, the hospital bills for my mom’s treatment updated daily, draining my account like a leaky faucet. Even if I did absolutely nothing all day, the money still vanished from my account, penny by agonizing penny. I was terrifyingly broke! Meanwhile, a single piece of jewelry on my roommate’s wrist cost more than several months of my blood, sweat, and tears. Whenever she complained about how “boring” her life was… I practically ground my molars into dust. Why can’t I be the one who’s bored?! 2 Tonight, just as I was finally drifting off to sleep. CRASH— Something was violently smashed onto the floor. I jolted awake instantly. I had finally found a moment to rest, and being violently woken up made a fire ignite in my chest. I looked over and saw my other roommates crowding around the rich girl, trying to comfort her. “Lily, it’s Carter Sterling! He’s literally the king of the university!” “Yeah, if my dad told me I was arranged to marry him, I’d be smiling in my sleep.” “I heard his family’s wealth is basically a GDP, and they donated four buildings to the school!” Lily kept her chin high, her face twisted in an arrogant sneer as she threw another textbook on the floor. “So what?! I hate that my family is trying to arrange my marriage! Am I just an object for them to control? I don’t care if he’s the sole heir to the Sterling conglomerate, I just don’t like him!” Hearing that sentence, my teeth ground together, my face contorting with rage. If you don’t want the arranged marriage, give it to me! I’ll take it! Marrying the heir to the Sterling empire meant my entire life would be permanently set on easy mode. Listening to Lily’s pathetic complaints, the fire in my chest grew hotter. Thinking about having to wake up at 6:00 AM tomorrow for my first shift made me even angrier! Some people had everything handed to them without lifting a finger. I was basically crawling on the ceiling in the dark, consumed by pure, unadulterated jealousy. The frustration just wouldn’t dissipate. I knew who Carter Sterling was. He was the most famous guy on campus; finding his WeChat ID wasn’t exactly difficult. The hard part was getting him to accept the friend request. After my roommates finally went to sleep. I stared at my phone screen with a deadpan expression. I logged into my burner account and sent him a friend request: [So what if you’re handsome? You’re still totally unlikable.] I knew he would never accept it. It was purely a way to vent my toxic rage. My phone buzzed. A few seconds later, the screen showed he had accepted my friend request. Him: [?] My fingers, which had been typing out a second venomous insult, froze. His profile picture was a vast, pristine blue ocean. It stood in stark contrast to my profile picture, which was just a pitch-black square. It made me feel even more like a rat hiding in a sewer. In the safety of the dark, I shed my daytime persona of the frugal, hardworking, sweet girl. I typed out a string of bitter, spiteful words: [Do you think sending a single question mark makes you look cool and aloof?] [Stop acting so pretentious stop acting so pretentious stop acting so pretentious.] Him: [Who are you?] Me: [A cynical, spiteful beautiful girl.] Him: […Why did you add me?] Me: [I hate how you rich people always look down on everyone. Just because you asked doesn’t mean I have to tell you. I won’t!] Him: [Fine. Blocked.] When I tried to send another message, a red exclamation mark appeared. But honestly? I felt incredible. I had found a brand-new way to vent my miserable life. Every time my rich roommate showed off in the dorm, or threw a loud tantrum while I was trying to sleep. I used my burner account to unleash a barrage of cyberbullying on her arranged fiancé, the Sterling heir. I just kept sending him new friend requests. [Why are you sleeping? I can’t sleep, so you don’t get to sleep either!] [I hate fake, high-and-mighty rich people like you the most! You have everything, yet you still act so moody and dramatic!] [Everyone only surrounds you because of your money! Without your money, you’re nothing!] [Why isn’t your money mine?! Ahhhhhh why!!] [I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!] I treated Carter Sterling like my personal emotional dumpster. I gleefully chanted my dark, toxic curses. Carter Sterling: […Enough.] The system showed we were friends again. When did he accept my friend request this time? Me: [Did I give you permission to accept my request? Block me again.] Him: [Did I do something to offend you?] Me: [Yes!] Him: [What?] Me: [You have more money than me. I hate everyone who has more money than me.] Him: […Do you ever sleep? You always message me in the middle of the night.] Is it because I don’t want to sleep?! It’s because your arranged fiancée is staying up late watching K-dramas with no headphones and ruining my sleep! If I can’t sleep, no one gets to sleep. I typed darkly: [Because cynical beautiful girls only roam at night. By offending me, you’ve offended the rat in the sewer!] He replied with a sticker of a sighing cartoon cat. My heart felt immensely lighter. After expelling all that toxic energy, my physical health genuinely felt better. I fell into a deep, comfortable sleep. 3 A month later, the university held its annual sports festival. I woke up at the crack of dawn to volunteer, handing out water to the athletes. Carter Sterling was there. On the basketball court, he and his teammates moved with flawless synergy. His movements were fluid and explosive. Every time he went for a dunk, his jersey rode up, exposing a glimpse of his abs, causing the girls in the bleachers to scream like they were at a concert. It was giving me a massive headache. I already wasn’t sleeping well. I stared blankly at the golden boy dominating the court. His jawline was razor-sharp, his nose perfectly straight. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose down to his collarbone. A girl shyly handed him a bottle of water. He took it and offered a polite “Thank you.” Courteous and gentlemanly. The girl covered her face and ran away, her heart practically beating out of her chest. She even bumped into me in her panic. I cursed internally. Noticing Carter’s gaze drift my way, I slapped on a bright, customer-service smile and told him he played a great game. The second he turned away, I aggressively rolled my eyes. I’m the one working the hardest here! I still had to clean up the entire court later. I crawled back into my dark mental space. I take back what I said before. Besides being filthy rich, Carter Sterling also had a face that could ruin lives. Why did the universe favor him so much, while I was treated like an NPC? Handing him water was treated like some supreme honor. It’s not fair! Those basketball shoes he was wearing cost enough to pay off all my dad’s gambling debts. And he was just casually stepping on them. My face twisted in pure bitterness. “Excuse me, are you Chloe?” Suddenly, the guy who had just walked away turned back around. I didn’t have time to fix my face, so my features just twitched awkwardly. “Are you okay?” His voice was laced with genuine concern. Carter was much taller than me. Standing right in front of me, his shadow completely swallowed me. I guiltily covered my twitching face, terrified he’d realize I was the cyberbully: “I’m fine, I-I just… my blood sugar is a little low.” He looked at me with gentle detachment. “Carrying all this water by yourself must be exhausting.” He bent down and helped me carry the remaining cases of water. He even called over a few of his friends to help me pick up all the empty plastic bottles left on the bleachers and throw them in the trash. The sun was blinding. My eyes stung with tears. Why is this billionaire heir suddenly acting like a saint?! Doesn’t he know I can recycle those empty bottles for cash?! My heart bled, but my last shred of poor-person dignity wouldn’t let me scream at the billionaire and his elite frat brothers: “Put the bottles down! Let me do it!” After they finished cleaning up, Carter saw my expression of utter devastation. He assumed I was just overwhelmed with gratitude. “No problem, it was nothing. Our game caused a mess, it’s the least we could do.” Fake! I couldn’t fathom why the school’s golden boy was suddenly being so helpful. Did my dark, cynical rants actually make him start pitying the working class? As they walked away, they weren’t quite out of earshot, and I could hear their conversation. “Carter, why are you suddenly playing the knight in shining armor? Trying to hit on her?” “No way. Carter didn’t even look twice at the girl from the arts campus. Why would he go for some broke girl whose sweater is literally pilling? You know what a clean freak he is.” “Speaking of which, hasn’t Carter been chatting up some girl online lately? How’s that going? Did you hit a home run yet?” The guys erupted into laughter. Carter’s sharp eyes narrowed, and he laughed, cursing at them. “Fuck off, all of you.” “You guys have way too much free time.” I knew it! Just a typical, sleazy rich playboy. He has an arranged fiancée, and he’s still casually hooking up with girls online. After silently roasting him with pure disgust, I sprinted to the trash cans to fish out the empty water bottles. They were still worth money! 4 The world of a poor, cynical college student is incredibly monotonous. Part-time jobs, classes, sleep. Surviving was fine, dying was also acceptable. Lying in bed, I unlocked my phone, desperate to look at something that would bring me a tiny ounce of joy. I opened my main WeChat account, and the first thing I saw was Lily posting photos of her three new Hermès Birkin bags. Disgusting! I switched to my burner account. And the first thing I saw was Carter posting videos of himself racing sports cars and working out at the gym. Pretentious! My vision went dark. I felt even more exhausted. I am going to war with you rich people! I started maliciously harassing Carter again. [Why do you have so much money?! I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!] He seemed to be in a good mood today, and actually replied. Him: [Are you really struggling for money?] [I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!!!] Carter Sterling has transferred $5,000 to you. Me: [!!] I could collect recycling for years and never see that kind of money. Him: [Do you still hate me?] Me: [Don’t think that…] Carter Sterling has transferred $50,000 to you. I clutched my chest. I counted the zeros. Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands… [Do you still hate me?] As someone who literally saved money in increments of ten dollars, I had never witnessed such a direct, aggressive display of wealth. My morals were severely tested. Me: [Honestly… you’re not that bad.] He sent a voice memo. I instinctively tapped it. The man was laughing. His voice was cold, yet incredibly magnetic, the final syllable dragging out lazily. “I’m just… ‘not that bad’?” I almost dropped my phone. Why is he using that tone of voice?! Did he really think I would be seduced by his fake charm? He had merely blinded me temporarily with his overwhelming wealth. [Of course you’re just ‘not that bad’. Don’t think that just because you have money, you’re a flawless human being.] Him: [For example?] Me: [Wearing that white button-down when you play basketball is incredibly pretentious. And in the library, when that girl confessed to you, you ripped up her love letter right in front of her and threw it on the floor. Did you ever think about the janitor who has to clean that up…] Him: [Are you stalking me?] Stalking him?! As if! It was just that every time he caused a scene, I happened to be working a shift nearby. Is it my fault I have too many part-time jobs?! [I wouldn’t waste my time stalking you. I wish you would disappear from my sight forever.] Him: [So it sounds like we’ve definitely met in person.] Realizing he was quietly interrogating me to figure out my identity, I panicked and immediately deleted the rest of my drafted complaints. No matter what he sent after that, I only replied: [I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!] He suddenly changed the subject: [You hate when I wear white button-downs. So what do you like? I’ll wear whatever you want.] What kind of line was that? Did he really mean he’d wear whatever I told him to? I let my malice run wild: [I like it when you wear absolutely nothing, and I walk you around on a dog leash.]

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My fiancé and my own brother hated me for ten years. They were convinced I’d bullied their precious little innocent. And at my engagement party, they exposed my supposed crimes to the world. “She’s a disgrace, a bully who tormented her classmates!” In the live-streamed video, the innocent girl smiled through tears: “I’ve forgiven her. Looking back, I’ve long since moved past it.” She became an overnight sensation. I, on the other hand, was vilified, attacked with acid by extreme fans, and in despair, I dragged her down with me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my senior year of high school. The innocent girl was pouring water over her head, smiling as she asked, “Have you thought about how you’re going to apologize to me?” I snapped. Grabbing her by the hair, I dragged her into the restroom and shoved her head into the toilet. “Let me show you what real bullying looks like.” “Such a filthy mouth. Remember to wash it clean before you go tattling.” 1 My last memory of my previous life. The agonizing, near-fatal pain of concentrated acid splashing into my eyes. Enduring immense agony, I found Daisy, shielded behind my brother, through my blurring vision. Then I grabbed a cake knife, charged, and plunged it into her chest. “Let’s go to hell together!” … My eyes snapped open again. The unusually clear sight before me left me stunned for a couple of seconds. Until I saw Daisy, much younger, not far away. She was wearing a faded school uniform, twisting open a faucet, and pouring water over her own head. As the water streamed down, she smiled and asked, “Who do you think they’ll believe, me or you?” It hit me then. This was the day. The beginning of my being branded a bully in my past life. Seeing me standing there, frozen, Daisy’s smile widened. “Have you thought about how you’re going to apologize to me, Miss Fancy Pants? —Ah!” Old grudges and fresh fury surged. I lunged, seized her by the hair, and dragged her into the restroom. Amidst her sudden, shrill shriek, I shoved her entire face into the toilet. “You think a little cold water is enough to pin this on me? Come on, I’ll personally teach you what real bullying means.” Daisy thrashed wildly, her arms flailing like windmills, but she couldn’t escape my grip. Her face buried in the murky water, she could only gurgle out muffled sounds. “Eleanor, let me go… gurgle… retch—” I threw my head back and laughed. “Such a filthy mouth! Remember to wash it clean before you go tattling later!” Whether this was a do-over or a post-mortem hallucation. It didn’t matter. I was completely, utterly insane. 2 In my past life, I died on the most triumphant day of my life. That day, I’d won my third Best Actress award, dressed in a haute couture gown, standing on a grand, live-streamed engagement stage with my childhood sweetheart, Evan. Then he announced to everyone, “I will never marry a despicable bully who tormented classmates in high school.” As I stared in disbelief. Daisy emerged from the audience. Her eyes glistening with tears, she looked up and smiled. “Eleanor, do you remember me? Daisy, the girl you bullied for ten years.” “You probably never imagined I’d stand here, equal to you, one day.” “But it’s alright, I don’t blame you anymore.” “Looking back, I’ve long since moved past it.” The live broadcast instantly made her a sensation. Before I could even react, a swarm of reporters, arranged by my brother and Evan, rushed in and surrounded me. “Miss Moreau, is it true you still maintain your habit of bullying newcomers on set?” “Someone photographed you visiting a gynecologist recently. Was it due to a dirty disease from your promiscuous private life?” An extremist fan burst through the crowd and hurled acid onto my face. “Bitch, just die!” The liquid splashed, bringing an overwhelming, searing pain to my face. My vision never cleared again. From heaven to hell, in an instant. 3 Snapping back to reality, I released my grip. Daisy lay on the ground, gasping for breath. Her innocent, pure face was streaked with grime. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Cry, throw a fit, then go tell the whole world I bullied you with that face—go on!” My voice rose sharply at the end. Remembering the searing pain of my face being dissolved by acid in my past life, I stomped on her face twice more with all my might. Only then did I turn and leave. Downstairs, my classmate, Sarah, was waiting for me. “Gym class started ages ago, what were you doing upstairs?” I said nonchalantly, “Oh, just bullied the new kid a bit.” She turned, shocked. “What?!” I replied, “As Mark Twain said, when the whole world thinks you’re a bully, you might as well be one.” “Mark Twain… said that…?” “It’s not important.” As we walked towards the sports field, we ran straight into Evan. He wasn’t in my class. But everyone in school knew he was Eleanor Moreau’ childhood boyfriend. Evan’s gaze skimmed my face, then subtly, almost imperceptibly, landed behind me. “Ellie, why are you so late? By the way, I heard there’s a new transfer student in your class?” In my past life, every time Daisy slandered me. He would always tell me to apologize to her, to just move past it. He seemed to be on my side. But in reality, a few words from him solidified my guilt as a bully. At that thought, I unexpectedly raised my hand and slapped him. “?!” Sarah, beside me, was stunned again. Evan’s expression remained unchanged, though his eyes momentarily hardened. Then he acted as if nothing had happened. He leaned down intimately, rubbing his cheek against mine. “What’s wrong, Ellie? Are you in a bad mood?” 4 In my past life, I didn’t know until much later. When Evan was a child, his mother abandoned him at an amusement park, and he spent some time in an orphanage. There, he met a cheerful, bright little girl. She slept in the same bed as him and gave him a piece of candy. She was the only light in his life. That light was Daisy. And on her very first day transferring to our school, Evan recognized her. He had always believed Daisy’s claims that I bullied her, hating me to the core. Yet, constrained by his status as an illegitimate child, he had to endure and curry favor with me. Because he needed to secure his position in the family through marriage to me. At this thought, I said, “Let’s break up.” His pupils suddenly constricted. “…Why? Give me a reason, Ellie.” I pulled out a tissue, wiping my cheek where he’d touched it, stroke by stroke. “I don’t want to date a mistress’s son. It feels dirty. Is that reason enough?” 5 After I left, Sarah cautiously asked if I was possessed. Her question didn’t surprise me in the least. Because in high school, I had loved Evan so openly and intensely. Every day after school, I’d wait to walk home with him, baking cookies until my hands were scratched and cut, then smiling sweetly as I brought them to him. My favoritism was so obvious, the whole world knew. But now, it was different. The Eleanor Moreau who had just started her senior year was dead. The person standing here now was Eleanor Moreau, reborn from the ashes! 6 Daisy didn’t reappear all day. I knew her face was her most prized asset. She wouldn’t make a move unless she could fully leverage it. I waited patiently. Soon, it was Saturday, my eighteenth birthday. My parents had said they’d host a grand dinner to celebrate my coming of age. But then something urgent came up at their company, and they had to arrive late. Under the glittering crystal chandeliers. I, dressed in a bespoke cocktail dress, descended the spiral staircase into the living room. From afar, I saw my brother, Victor Moreau. He was impeccably dressed in a suit, his face impassive, calling out to me. “Eleanor, come here.” I walked over. Pretending not to see Evan’s shadowed gaze behind him, nor Daisy, who looked on the verge of tears. I smiled sweetly. “What is it, brother? Did you prepare a gift for me?” Victor looked at me with cold eyes for a moment, then spoke. “Bullying classmates, insulting friends, Eleanor. Is this what the Moreau family taught you?” His voice hadn’t softened in the slightest. Suddenly, all the guests’ eyes in the room turned our way. “What are you talking about, brother? I don’t understand.” I looked at Daisy, tilting my head. “Who did I insult, and when did I bully a classmate? I don’t even know her.” “It’s too late to deny it now. You made a mistake, and you’ll pay the price.” “Since Mom and Dad aren’t here today, I’ll discipline you on their behalf.” With that, Victor took a ruler from a nearby display cabinet. Looking at me, he stated each word sternly. “Kneel.” 7 In the vast ballroom, countless eyes watched, eager for a show. “What? Bullying a classmate? The Moreau daughter does things like that?” “Oh, raised in luxury, it’s normal for her to resent others being better.” “Good thing her brother is fair and not protective.” Under Daisy’s smug and defiant gaze, I straightened my back. Smiling, I unleashed a torrent of sarcasm. “What rubbish are you spewing, brother? Anyone who knows you would think you’re Victor Moreau; anyone who doesn’t would think some ghost from the old days possessed you.” “I only kneel for my ancestors.” I cocked my head, scrutinizing him from head to toe, then smirked nastily. “How about this: you go jump off a building right now, and I’ll immediately kneel and bow three times to send you off.” Victor’s face instantly darkened. Behind him, Daisy feigned concern. “Eleanor, I know you don’t like me, but it’s one thing to pick on me, how can you speak to your own brother like that?” Her eyes widened, tears welling up, deliberately putting on a childish, innocent expression. Evan, seeing this, showed a flicker of obscure darkness in his eyes. Then he spoke softly. “Ellie, if you’ve made a mistake, just admit it and apologize. There’s no need to—” I also widened my eyes, feigning distress. “Excuse me, I don’t understand dog barks. Could you please repeat that in human language?” “Enough!” Victor snapped. “Eleanor Moreau, as a young woman, do you have no sense of decency? Who taught you to speak like that, full of vulgarity and without manners?” He was still the same, refusing to believe anything I said. Instead, he would, with strong prejudice, nail me to the pillar of shame again and again. I tugged at the corner of my mouth, mimicking his cold sneer. “Mom and Dad are busy, no time to manage me. Who do you think taught me?” “Of course, it was you, my dearest brother.” 8 In my past life, I was always a mixture of fear and affection for Victor. He was several years older than me, and in my heart, he was always an authoritative brother. When we were little, Mom and Dad were busy with the company, so he was the one who disciplined me. If I made even a small mistake, I’d get my palm smacked with a ruler, or be forbidden to eat. When I brought home a curly-haired stray dog I’d found, he wouldn’t let the housekeeper open the door for me. “It’s filthy. We don’t welcome things like that in this house.” So I sat on the steps outside our house, clutching the puppy, all night long. I was still young then. I always thought that was just his personality, that he couldn’t learn the gentle affection other brothers showed their sisters. It wasn’t until Daisy appeared. That I realized. My brother did know how to be gentle. It just wasn’t for me. I’d seen him in his car, handing Daisy hot milk, ruffling her hair and saying, “Remember to eat three meals a day. If you need more money, I’m here.” I’d also seen Daisy pick up a scrawny stray cat in the rain, while he held an umbrella over her, softly asking, “Do you want to keep it?” When Daisy was drunk and mumbled nonsense, tugging at his shirt, he listened patiently, his eyes full of tenderness. In my past life, I was trapped in a web of deceitful love. Confused why my brother didn’t love me, why my fiancé wasn’t on my side. Only after living through it again did I finally understand. I was a completely independent individual. I didn’t need love to survive. 9 The birthday dinner ultimately didn’t end well. Because as I confronted Victor without backing down, Mom and Dad finally returned. They politely thanked and sent off the numerous guests. Daisy tried to pull her usual victim act with Mom, but Mom cut her off with a smile. “Excuse me, young lady, we handle our family matters ourselves. Please leave.” Daisy choked, giving Victor a tearful glance before turning to leave. Once only Victor and I remained, Dad finally spoke, his voice authoritative. “Alright, now tell me exactly what happened.” Before Victor could speak, I quickly interjected. “A new transfer student arrived at school recently. On her very first day, she went crazy, poured water over her own head, and insisted I was the one who did it, saying I bullied her.” “Later, I found out this person was Daisy, the underprivileged student you’ve been sponsoring, brother.” Victor, who was sitting on the sofa, suddenly looked up at me, his eyes full of shock. Surprised, aren’t you, brother? That your secret affair was discovered by me so early. I pressed my reddened eyes, my voice choked with sobs. “Actually, I don’t blame her. It’s just a birthday, I can just skip it.” “I’m just sad, why don’t you believe me, brother…” It wasn’t as if Daisy was the only one who could play the innocent victim in this world. Amidst my tearful voice, Dad made a final decision. “Alright, no matter who bullied whom, don’t make a fuss anymore.” “If it escalates and gets out, it won’t be good for any of you.” “This matter, ends here.” 10 Back at school, I began overtly bullying Daisy. Pouring ink into her drawer, loudly mocking her when she recited English with an accent. Tearing her physics test into pieces and sprinkling them over her head. “Go on, go tattle again.” I smiled. “Isn’t that what you’re best at?” A piece of shredded paper floated gently from her hair. She looked at me, a flicker of deep-seated malice in her eyes. In the end, she still trembled and cried, apologizing to me. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Eleanor. If I’ve done anything to upset you, I apologize now. I’ll change, alright?” “Your existence upsets me.” I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How will you change? Are you going to die right now?” She was speechless, unable to utter a single word. Finally, she could only continue to cry. I realized for the first time how exhilarating it was to be the villain. Of course, she told the teachers. The teacher called me to the office. I tearfully recounted what happened at the birthday dinner, finally pulling out a doctor’s note. “Because of her rumors that day, my brother humiliated me in front of so many people. I cry every time I think about it, even waking up from nightmares.” “I’m still seeing a psychologist and taking medication. The doctor says I have severe depression.” In the end, the teacher had to console me. Everyone could see I disliked Daisy. Sarah was puzzled. “Why are you targeting her so much? Has she done anything bad?” I looked up and smiled at her. “Can’t I just be a bad woman, using my family’s wealth to look down on a new student from a poor background?” “Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes at me. “If you were like that, why wouldn’t you bully me? My family is much poorer than hers.” “On the very first day we became friends, you bought all my school supplies for three years of high school. Asking me to believe you bully classmates is like asking me to believe I’m Queen Elizabeth.” “I understand that much.” Yes. That much, everyone understood. But my brother and the person I loved, they just didn’t. I curved my lips, but there was no smile in my eyes.

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It had been five years since I left Arthur Sterling, and I finally stopped thinking about ending my life every day. I found a new love and gave birth to an adorable son. On my son’s third birthday, an interview with Arthur suddenly went viral and topped the trending charts. In it, he said: “I will only ever have one wife, and that is Luna. She is also the mother of my only child.” Going viral right alongside it was a ten-thousand-word, handwritten apology letter from the daughter who had once cried and screamed for me to stay away from her, calling me a “psycho.” 1 I thought today was going to be a wonderfully happy day. It was my son Leo’s third birthday. He held a little paper flower he made at daycare and insisted on giving it to me, saying, “Mommy works so hard.” My boss had just given me a generous bonus, and my husband, Mark, had transferred his entire paycheck to me the second he received it. So, I bought a ton of groceries, planning to cook a massive feast to celebrate tonight. But as soon as I reached the entrance of our apartment complex, my upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Davis, blocked my path. She looked me up and down without hiding her curiosity. “Tsk tsk, Luna, I never would have guessed it! You used to be a rich man’s wife!” I was stunned for a second, then laughed naturally. “Mrs. Davis, please don’t joke like that. I’ve only ever had Mark.” Mrs. Davis shot me another look. “Look at your phone. The whole internet knows your business now.” The forecast said it was 95 degrees today, but standing there in the blinding sunlight, my entire body went ice cold. I pulled out my phone with trembling hands, unlocked it, and randomly opened a social media app. I didn’t even have to search for it. The number one recommended video on the homepage was an interview clip with Arthur Sterling. It was from a press conference for the Sterling Group’s newest project launch. The reporter asked about his personal life. In the video, Arthur froze for a moment, and a look of profound pain crossed his face. After a long pause, he looked directly into the camera for the first time. Enunciating every word, he delivered a perfectly executed performance of a deeply devoted man. “I will only ever have one wife, and that is Luna. She is also the mother of my only child.” Arthur’s eyes were filled with a depth of affection I had never seen before, and he used an intimate nickname he had never used for me before. “Luna, come home. I’ve been waiting for you.” After watching the video, I felt absolutely no positive emotions. My stomach churned with nothing but pure nausea and disgust. I had no idea what had happened over the last five years to cause such a drastic change in his attitude. But even now, I clearly remembered the final phone call I made to Arthur right before I jumped off the bridge five years ago. At that time, his “true love,” Chloe, had practically moved into his house. There was nothing left to say about our relationship. I just wanted to give him one last reminder to take good care of our daughter. But on the other end of the line, Arthur let out a cold, mocking scoff: “Luna, stop acting like you’re leaving a dying wish. I’ve seen this exact trick a million times. “You don’t need to worry about our daughter. But honestly, if you actually managed to die, she’d be much better off. “After all, having a mother who used to be some rich guy’s kept woman, who used a pregnancy to force her way into marriage, is a lifelong humiliation for her. “If you really can wash that stain off her record, maybe she’ll actually appreciate you for once.” The wind was howling furiously on the sixty-foot-high bridge, but tragically, I heard every single word Arthur said. I wanted to cry, but the freezing wind stung my eyes so badly I couldn’t open them. I opened my mouth several times, waiting until the frigid air filled my lungs and my heart turned completely to ice. Finally, I said: “Okay. I’ll go die then.” Arthur’s voice remained completely flat. It was as if my entire existence wasn’t worthy of causing even the slightest emotional ripple in him. “Then go die somewhere far away. Don’t expect me to collect your corpse. “Don’t forget, we never actually signed a marriage certificate. Legally, we have absolutely no relationship. “If you’re just having another psychotic episode, don’t bother coming back. You’ve already brought enough misery to our daughter.” I hung up before he could finish whatever else he was going to say. I was carrying far too much pain, enough to drag me straight to the bottom of the river. I truly didn’t want to hear another word. When I jumped off the bridge, it was the first time since I got together with Arthur that I felt completely relaxed. When the river water rushed up my nose, I didn’t struggle at all. I had been thrashing in the swamp of the Sterling family for so long. I was just so tired. I faced death with absolute calm. It was my husband, Mark—a math teacher who rarely exercised—who desperately jumped in and fought with everything he had to pull me out. From that day on, sunlight finally entered my life. So why couldn’t Arthur just let me go? My daughter, Mia’s, ten-thousand-word apology letter was sitting at number two on the trending list. When Mia was born, I gave her the nickname “Angel.” I truly believed my daughter was a little angel sent to save me. But in the end, it was she who dragged me straight into hell. 2 My physical health was incredibly frail. I once almost died over a few pieces of meat. The first time I ever ate a proper serving of meat was when I was 20, the day Arthur brought me to the Sterling estate. The meat smelled incredible, but I only took two small pieces. Growing up, I only ever ate out of a tiny teacup; my stomach couldn’t handle more than that. But those two pieces of meat were enough. Shortly after eating, I suffered agonizing abdominal pain and started vomiting blood. I was rushed to the hospital. The doctor said my body was so malnourished and frail it was like I had illnesses from a different century. Because of this, I never thought someone in my condition could ever get pregnant. That day, I was standing on the roof of an abandoned construction site, ready to jump. The name “Arthur Sterling” had become my living nightmare, and I despised myself. I felt like I didn’t deserve to live. But just as I stepped one foot off the edge, an overwhelming wave of nausea hit me. I felt so sick I started throwing up violently, accidentally pressing my phone and answering a call from Arthur in the process. I failed to die. At the hospital, the doctor told me I was pregnant. The sudden promise of a continuing life instantly washed away my desire to die. I didn’t have an umbrella to protect myself from the rain, but I wanted to provide a sunny sky for my child. Touching my stomach, I thought this baby would be my salvation. With a child, there would finally be someone in this world who loved me. I wouldn’t be someone who deserved to die anymore. The pregnancy was brutal. Every single day was agonizing, torturous pain. My body was too weak. Several times, doctors advised me to terminate the pregnancy, but I refused. Of course, in Arthur’s eyes, this just looked like I refused to give up the opportunity to use the baby to secure my position as his wife. But all I wanted was to forge a connection with this world again. First, it was my grandmother. After she passed away, I finally had someone again. To others, I probably looked completely insane. I was in constant, agonizing pain, dripping with cold sweat, my face pale as paper, my lips devoid of color. But whenever I touched my growing belly, I smiled. A genuine, heartfelt smile. I felt like all the suffering was worth it. After Mia was born and I was told she was completely healthy, I smiled for a long, long time. I felt like a victorious warrior. It was the first battle I had ever won in my life. I felt like I was amazing. The two critical condition notices issued during labor felt like distant memories. Newborn Mia was a very good baby. Watching her grow day by day, my mood improved significantly. When did it all change? It was when she learned to run and talk. She would call out for Grandpa, Grandma, and Daddy, but she stopped calling me Mommy. She always reached her little arms out and ran toward the Sterling family members, never toward me. Back then, I naively thought it was because I wasn’t doing a good enough job, so I just tried to love her even more. But by the time she turned four, she had developed a strong sense of autonomy. The question she asked me the most was: “Are you really my mommy?” That tiny little girl even tried to find various “evidence” to prove I wasn’t her mother. I would try to correct her. I even showed her photos of my pregnant belly, telling her that she used to live inside there. But Mia would snatch the photos and throw them on the floor. “Watermelon stripes. Disgusting. You’re bad.” I was painfully thin during my pregnancy, but Mia grew very well, causing my stomach to stretch rapidly. It left me with severe stretch marks, so ugly that even I couldn’t bear to look at them sometimes. But hearing my own biological child call them ugly still broke my heart. Mia would intentionally stand next to me in front of a mirror and say, “I look like Daddy, not you. Looking like you is ugly.” One time, she seemed to be in a particularly good mood, so I took the opportunity to get closer, hoping to bond with her. But she ran upstairs and quickly came back down with a photograph. “Daddy looks at this every day. This is my real mommy. You’re a fake.” The photo was of Arthur’s childhood sweetheart, Chloe. Arthur was standing next to her, smiling warmly. It was a gentle look I had never once seen him direct at me. Mia’s betrayal was the final straw that broke me. My mental health deteriorated rapidly. There were many times I was so delirious I couldn’t distinguish hallucinations from reality. The final explosion happened when the whole family was watching TV, and Chloe appeared on screen. Mia excitedly jumped off the sofa and ran to the TV: “Grandpa, Grandma! It’s Mommy! My mommy!” 3 Her proud, joyful smile was like a sharp knife plunging directly through my heart. Arthur’s parents smiled and praised Mia, not saying a single word to correct her. Years of accumulated grief and injustice made me snap. I lunged from the sofa and grabbed Mia’s arm. “Look closely! I am your mother! How many times do I have to tell you?! I am your mother! “That is a fact that will never change! “It doesn’t matter if you’re unhappy, or if you don’t like it. I AM YOUR MOTHER!” My outburst terrified Mia, and she started crying, struggling fiercely to get away. Arthur’s parents yanked Mia out of my grasp. I was shoved backward, and the small of my back crashed directly into the sharp corner of the coffee table. Tears of pure physiological pain immediately sprang to my eyes. Mia wailed loudly, but she didn’t forget to kick me, causing me to repeatedly slam against the sharp corner. “Waaaah! I don’t want to be with this psycho! I want Mommy Chloe!” The crying disturbed Arthur, who was in his study. He stormed out and, without asking what happened, immediately interrogated me: “Luna, what kind of crazy fit are you throwing this time?!” His mother sneered, “Who knows how she treats Mia when we aren’t around? What kind of child hates their own biological mother? “She must have some malicious intentions and treats the child poorly.” Then she turned to me: “I used to feel guilty that our family never gave you a proper title. But looking at you now, we did the right thing. “You simply don’t deserve to be Mia’s mother.” The crying Mia in her arms suddenly stopped. The childish voice that followed was, to me, the final trumpet call of death. “Grandma, if she dies, can Chloe be my mommy then?” So, my departure was exactly what Mia wanted most. Why would she come looking for me now? The person I loved most hurt me the deepest. I jumped into the river seeking death, but I wasn’t afraid of the water. For the first year after I was rescued, what I feared most was little girls. Especially little girls calling out for their mommy. To me, they were more terrifying than vengeful ghosts. Why couldn’t we just leave each other alone now? It wasn’t that I hadn’t carefully read Mia’s letter. But in my heart, I had long ceased to be her mother, and she was no longer my daughter. Yet, a few lines in the middle still stung my eyes. [Mommy, when I was little, you used to get jealous because I loved other people. I’m sorry. Please come back. I promise I’ll only love you from now on, okay? I’ve prepared so many gifts for you for every holiday and birthday. Mommy, I miss you. I love you.] I remembered one Mother’s Day, Mia drew a picture and said it was a Mother’s Day gift. When she ran toward me holding the drawing, I was so flustered and excited that I immediately started looking for wet wipes to clean my hands, accidentally dropping my phone on the floor. But Mia ran right past me and gave the drawing to our cook, Maria. I remained frozen in a half-crouched position, my arms open, waiting for a hug that never came. Like an absolute joke. At the very end of the ten-thousand-word handwritten letter was a family portrait. Arthur sat on the sofa, his expression serious, even cold. I sat next to him, holding baby Mia in my arms. My eyes were red, and I was forcing a stiff, unnatural smile for the camera. This was our only family photo. We had been together for years. We had no marriage certificate, no wedding, not even a single photo together. I had to beg him for this picture. I just wanted something to show my grandmother when I visited her grave, so she would know I was doing well and not worry about me. But Arthur just mocked me. “Luna, in my eyes, your only identity is Mia’s biological mother. Nothing else. “Don’t even try it. I won’t fall for your manipulative schemes again. “And I will never, ever have any real relationship with a woman like you.” I just wanted one single photo, but I received nearly thirty minutes of vicious mockery instead. The heartbreak, the humiliation, the sheer helplessness made my eyes involuntarily turn red. Just as I was about to take the baby and go upstairs, Arthur spoke again, agreeing to the photo in a tone that sounded like he was tossing scraps to a beggar. I saw comments from netizens saying Arthur looked like the perfect, strict, disciplined father. And that I must have been so overwhelmed with emotion from becoming a new mother and having such a doting husband that my eyes turned red, even though I was clearly so happy. So many netizens commented that they wished they could trade places with me. But that past is a wound on my soul that will never, ever heal. I looked at the bold words written beneath the photo: Wife/Mommy, come home. How incredibly ironic. They were using the photo I had to grovel and beg for, to beg me to come back. 4 I sat blankly against the wall, feeling like I was about to disconnect from this world all over again. The blinding sun beat down on me. Beads of sweat rolled down my hair and across my face, eventually splashing onto the ground and forming a small puddle. But I remained motionless. The freezing chill radiating from my heart froze me from the inside out, locking my entire body in ice. Cold and stiff. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. As I struggled to lift my head, the person crouched down in front of me. The next second, a cool, soothing sensation touched my forehead. Mark was using a wet wipe to gently clean the sweat from my face. He pulled out a small, portable fan, turned it on, and placed it in my hands. With one hand, he pulled me up, and with the other, he picked up the scattered groceries. “Did you get heatstroke? It’s really hot today. Let’s go, let’s head home early. Our son already turned the AC on. “When we get back, the three of us will crush that giant tub of ice cream.” My consciousness slowly returned. I opened my mouth, my voice dry and raspy. “Hubby, the internet…” For the very first time, Mark interrupted me. He turned around, smiled brightly, and said: “You mean those two trying to extort us? It’s no big deal. As long as the three of us live our lives happily, nothing else matters.” I had never hidden my past from Mark. But after he found out, he treated me even better. When we first got together, Mark was a bit of a dense, quiet guy. He didn’t talk much, had a terrible internet connection, and when he wasn’t solving math equations, he was prepping lesson plans. But later, just to make me smile, he started reading jokes online, clumsily trying to learn how to be funny. I gripped Mark’s hand tighter, desperately trying to find a sense of security. Mark slowed his pace and squeezed my hand even tighter. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you.” My nose stung. Mark immediately started teasing me. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let me tell you, our family is rich, okay? We don’t need you crying pearls of sorrow!” When we opened the door to our apartment, a blast of cool air washed over us, carrying the scent of flowers and buttercream frosting. Our son, Leo, holding a massive bouquet of flowers, practically tumbled over his own feet running toward me and threw himself into my arms. “Mommy, you work so hard! This is for you!” I immediately looked over at the shelf where his piggy bank usually sat. Sure enough, it was gone. Mark whispered in my ear: “He took his piggy bank to the flower shop and demanded to buy the absolute biggest bouquet they had. But it was too heavy for him to carry, so he had to settle for this one.” Leo pulled me over, insisting I cut the cake. I placed the first slice in front of him, but he pushed it back to me. “For Mommy! Mommy worked so hard to give birth to me. Today is all about Mommy!” Mark waved his hand in front of my face, and a beautiful gold necklace dropped from his palm. “Here! I have a gift too! Thank you for all your hard work, wifey. “You’re the reason our family is so complete and happy.” Looking at the big and little guys standing in front of me, my heart felt like it was soaking in warm syrup. Sweet and comforting. I felt like I was the center of their universe. Every holiday, this father-son duo perfectly coordinated their efforts, finding every excuse in the book to tell me I was the hero of the family. Like during the Spring Festival, which they turned into my annual “Awards Ceremony.” On Father’s Day, Mark would still buy me a gift, insisting it was because I gave him the opportunity to be a father. On Valentine’s Day, he thanked the heavens for letting us meet. Even on his own birthday, he would always say that I was the greatest gift he had ever received. He and Leo were always telling me how wonderful I was, but the truth was, they were the ones who truly saved me. Just as the tears were about to fall, a chubby little hand smeared with frosting touched the corner of my eye. “Mommy, smile! If you’re happy, I’ll give you all my reward stickers from now on!” Mark pulled out a tiny, clear jar. “I’ll give you little gold beans. We don’t want your pearls of sorrow.” I sniffled. “Okay, okay, I’m fine now! Come on, let’s eat cake first!” Just as I was serving cake to my boys, a loud knock echoed from the front door. Mark went to open it. After the sound of the door opening, there was a long, heavy silence from the entryway. I turned around, the plate of cake in my hand nearly slipping from my grasp. Arthur was standing in the doorway. Beside him, Mia violently shoved past Mark, sprinted into the apartment, and threw herself directly into my arms. “Mommy, I missed you so much!”

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During my time working undercover, to prove my absolute loyalty, I took a bullet for a ruthless mafia boss. I ended up losing my memory for three years. On the day I finally woke up, I casually reached my hand out. The terrifying boss dropped to his knees immediately, offering his cheek to my palm. He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and whined, “Can you hit me a little lighter today? I have a board meeting later.” 1 I was completely, utterly dumbfounded. “B-b-b…” Before I could even get the word ‘boss’ out. Damien lowered his head, gently rubbing my hand. “There are a lot of outsiders here. Save it for when we get home, okay?” Wait. Was this the same cold-blooded, ruthless mafia boss who murdered people without blinking? My last memory of him was him pointing a gun directly at my forehead, looking at me with pure disgust, and snarling, “Stay away from me!” Back then, forget about touching him; if you even looked at him wrong, he would shoot you a glare that could kill. But now? Not only was he initiating contact, but he also looked like an obedient, well-trained puppy. The most absurd part was that all his terrifying henchmen standing around the room looked completely unfazed, as if this was perfectly normal. I was so horrified I tried to yank my hand back. The man gripped it tighter, his eyes suddenly turning dangerous. “Wife, why aren’t you hitting me?” “You still have your eye on that pretty-boy doctor, don’t you?” “Fine. I’ll send him to the Sahara to get a tan.” He was being completely unreasonable. But Damien was a man of his word. I gritted my teeth, raised my other hand, and slapped him across the face. Smack! It was a crisp, loud sound. The man didn’t dodge at all. Half of his breathtakingly handsome face instantly turned bright red. My hand was shaking violently. I was terrified he was going to pull the gun from his waistband and blow my brains out the next second. Instead, the man gently touched his red cheek, his lips quivering slightly. “That hurts.” What am I supposed to do?! You told me to do it! Do you want me to blow on it for you?! Just as the thought crossed my mind… Damien dropped to both knees, pressed his face against my palm, and nuzzled it. “Wife, blow on it.” Oh my god! Just kill me now! 2 Three years ago, I was sent undercover to infiltrate his syndicate. But things went wrong right from the start. Damien’s inner circle was entirely out of my reach. He never went anywhere without an army of bodyguards. My only option was to get a job at a high-end nightclub he owned. I waited forever for the day he finally showed up. Desperate to impress him and get noticed, I insisted on doing a party trick: opening a beer bottle with my bare hands. The bottle cap flew off and hit Damien squarely on the nose. The beer sprayed everywhere, soaking his custom-tailored designer suit. That night, I learned what a truly intimidating, murderous glare looked like. As punishment, I was banished to guard the restroom doors. I guarded those doors for an entire month. Finally, I caught Damien coming to the club again. This time, he was here for a business meeting. My superiors had tipped me off that he was involved in some highly illegal trafficking deals recently. They ordered me to keep a close eye on him. I begged the club madam for a chance to serve his VIP room. The madam looked at me with a deeply conflicted expression. “I mean, you’re gorgeous, and your body is amazing, but…” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “The boss doesn’t swing that way!” Oh, right. I had always kept my hair short. When I applied for the job, I found out they only hired women with long hair for the hostess positions. Left with no choice, I lied and said I was a guy. I stomped my foot, urgently arguing my case. “But what if he does like guys?” “Think about it! He comes here all the time and never touches any of the beautiful women. He’s always alone!” The madam had a sudden look of realization. My logic convinced her. She tried to give me a sheer, see-through shirt to wear. I frantically waved my hands. No way. I have a large chest; it would be completely obvious. I’d heard that these powerful, wealthy men often had weird fetishes. So, I asked for a classic school uniform. I didn’t wear a drop of makeup, just some strawberry-flavored lip balm. When I pushed the door open and walked in, everyone inside simultaneously put down their drinks. A kind-looking older man warned me, “Kid, I think you’re in the wrong room.” I looked at Damien, whose face was completely unreadable, and called out timidly, “Brother.” The man’s brow furrowed deeply. “You have the wrong person.” I ran toward him, but I didn’t watch my step and stepped squarely on an empty bottle. I executed a flawless, sliding drop to my knees. My face nearly smashed directly into “Little Damien.” It was mortifying. The man reached out a finger, pressing it against my forehead to stop my momentum. “Where exactly are you looking?” I looked up at him, gently massaging his leg. “Brother, please take me in.” I made the tears flow on command. “My dad is a gambling addict; he lost all our money. My mom is terminally ill, and my little sister is starving. We can’t even afford food.” Damien toyed with his expensive lighter, his face entirely unmoved. “I’ve heard that exact story at least ten times.” So what? This time, no matter what he said, I wasn’t leaving. I had to get back everything I lost! One of his subordinates walked in. “Boss, Mr. Shaw is here.” Alarm bells rang in my head. My superiors had specifically told me to watch out for this guy. Damien’s expression turned cold. He stood up, stepping around me. “Get out.” I won’t. “Only if you promise to take me in.” The man’s eyes were dark and heavy, staring intently at me. “Are you of age?” I nodded. He looked away, letting out a dark scoff. “What a shame. I don’t like legal adults.” ??? He really is a massive pervert. Just as I was about to say something else, this ‘Mr. Shaw’ walked in. He looked back and forth between Damien and me with an amused, sleazy expression. “I didn’t realize Boss Damien was into this type. You should have said something! I have plenty of these at my place.” Damien pulled out his gun, pressed the cold barrel directly against my forehead, and said with eyes full of ice: “Stay away from me.” I lingered sneakily outside the door. Constantly monitoring the situation inside. Suddenly, an argument broke out in the room. I rushed in right behind Damien’s subordinates. I saw this ‘Mr. Shaw’, clutching his bleeding forehead, pointing a gun directly at Damien. “Go to hell!” Right as he was about to pull the trigger— In that split second, I didn’t think. I just purely didn’t want Damien to die that easily. I sprinted toward him faster than I ever had. The exact second I tackled him to the ground, the gunshot rang out. In my last moment of consciousness. I heard Damien’s furious, roaring voice: “Are you a complete idiot?!” If I hadn’t pushed him, that bullet would have gone straight through his brain. Miraculously, I survived. But I lost my memory. The amnesiac version of me had a completely different personality. According to bystanders’ summaries: I became a massive pervert. I would constantly hug Damien and demand kisses for no reason. I would barge into the bathroom while he was showering and try to measure his “dimensions” with my hands. Even more absurdly, I demanded to sleep using his abs as a pillow every single night. I became incredibly extroverted and arrogant. The identity I gave myself to the outside world was Damien’s “Ancestor.” I loved throwing my arms around him and calling him “Hubby” in public, regardless of the setting. Relying on his absolute indulgence, I constantly picked fights and caused trouble everywhere we went. And finally… I became extremely violent. I would slap Damien at the drop of a hat. When I took it too far, I would even make him wear handcuffs. The basement of his mansion was filled entirely with “tools” I had prepared for him. 3 I slammed my hands on the table and stood up. “That’s absolute bullshit!” Barnaby jumped, visibly terrified. “M-m-ma’am… y-you really did do all those things.” He was the personal bodyguard Damien had assigned to protect me. He was a good guy, his only flaw being a severe stutter. Honestly, I already knew about everything I did during my amnesia years. But… I just couldn’t accept it. I desperately tried to convince myself it was all a terrible nightmare. I asked Barnaby quietly: “When I hit Damien… did he never fight back at all?” Barnaby picked at his fingernails nervously. He recalled that every time I hit the boss, not only did the boss not get angry, but he also looked like a submissive little wife, holding my hand and asking if I wanted to hit him again. “F-f-f…” “F-f-f…” Fight back? That doesn’t make sense. Then how do I still have all ten of my fingers? “F-f-fine… it didn’t matter, you just hit him harder.” Barnaby finally finished his sentence, looking at me with pure terror. “The boss said, ‘Only a man with a wife gets to be hit. You guys don’t have wives, so no one hits you. It’s truly pathetic.’” I was speechless. Now that my memory was back, I was anxious about my mission progress. I contacted my handler. My handler started by sending a bunch of question marks. “Aren’t you dead?” Me: “Are you cursing me? Watch it, or I’ll file a formal complaint!” Handler: “Oh? Is my little baby throwing a tantrum? Keep it up, and I’ll take away your pacifier!” Me: “…Did I offend you somehow? Why are you being so mean?” My handler continued with his sarcastic, passive-aggressive tone: “I wouldn’t dare! You’re Damien’s precious little baby! I couldn’t reach you anywhere and thought you’d been kidnapped. When I finally found you on the street and tried to bring you in, you—” I remembered. I treated my handler like a human trafficker. I remembered everything. Every single detail. He got more and more agitated as he spoke: “You called me a creepy old fossil! You said I was ugly and tacky! You said I couldn’t even compare to a single finger on your precious Damien!” “I was so pissed off I didn’t eat for three days!” “How am I ugly?! I was the hottest guy in the bureau!” I admitted my mistake and apologized profusely. Finally, we got down to business. My handler told me they had investigated everything. Mr. Shaw was arrested. As for Damien, because he cooperated with the police and played a key role in the arrest, he received a commendation as an “Outstanding Citizen.” They investigated his entire organization inside and out and found absolutely zero illegal activity. But during my amnesia, Damien kept me under incredibly tight surveillance, so the bureau didn’t dare make a move to extract me. Most importantly, my amnesiac self refused to leave Damien. I threw massive, hysterical tantrums whenever they tried to take me away. It gave the bureau a massive headache, so they just decided to leave me with him for the time being. As for now, it was up to me to find a plausible excuse to leave on my own. Before hanging up, my handler said with a gloating, schadenfreude tone: “It looks to me like he’s genuinely in love with you, letting you beat and scold him like that. If you just pack up and leave, who knows, hehe…” What the hell are you ‘hehe’-ing about, you old fossil?! 4 While I was having a massive headache over the situation, Damien’s assistant called. “Ma’am, you haven’t checked in today.” Me: “Checked in for what?” He sighed. “No wonder.” Then he pleaded with me: “Ma’am, please come down here and coax the boss! He’s about to blow up the entire company.” Leave it to me! I didn’t know the way, so I made Barnaby drive. He looked like he was about to cry. “W-w-w-w…” I thought he was just too excited to serve me, so I patted his shoulder encouragingly. “From now on, you are my most trusted man! Keep up the good work!” “N-n-no, Ma’am. I wanted to say, I’ve failed my driving test… f-f-five times.” Useless! I forced him to act as my human GPS. Half an hour later, I deeply regretted that decision. We came to an intersection. I asked Barnaby which way to go. He rolled down the window, sticking his head almost entirely out. “S-s-s…” “S-s-s…” Straight, right? Got it. I even sped up a little. Barnaby’s face turned bright red from the effort. “S-s-s-suddenly turn right!” …I really should just throw him out of the car. Damn you. Thanks to Barnaby, it was already nightfall by the time we arrived at Damien’s corporate headquarters. Damien’s assistant, Mr. Davis, was a true professional. The security guards told me he had been waiting for me by the curb since the afternoon. “Sorry about that. Traffic.” He gave a mysterious, knowing smile. “It’s completely fine. This little wait is absolutely nothing.” Then he led the way. He was limping heavily. “Mr. Davis, what happened to your leg?” Barnaby jumped in: “It’s p-p-probably p-p-p-paralyzed!” Mr. Davis sternly reprimanded him: “Don’t curse in front of the Madam.”

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At my cousin’s wedding reception, I handed over a fifteen-hundred-dollar check in a card. My new sister-in-law, Tiffany, didn’t even open the envelope before she slid it back across the linen tablecloth with the tip of her manicured finger. “Ben, honey, you’re making the big bucks in Chicago,” she said, her voice carrying just enough to kill the conversation at the head table. “Is fifteen hundred really all you could manage?” The clink of silverware died. My parents sat next to her, staring at their plates. “Your Uncle Pete and Aunt Sarah chipped in fifty thousand,” Tiffany continued, her smile as sharp as a razor. “This is your only cousin’s big day. Don’t you think it’s a little embarrassing?” I looked at my parents. Just last month, they’d called me crying about “unexpected repairs” and “medical bills,” asking for another two thousand. Where the hell did they get fifty thousand dollars? I stayed silent, the confusion visible on my face. Tiffany saw it and let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Oh, don’t tell me. You didn’t know? Your parents sold the family estate in Connecticut. The developer payout was over a million. Did they really keep you in the dark?” The room started to spin. It felt like a physical blow to the solar plexus. I felt a ringing in my ears as I turned slowly toward my father. “Is that true?” I whispered. “What happened to the rest of the money?” My father couldn’t look me in the eye. He rubbed his weathered hands together, his face turning a deep, shameful crimson. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the table, toward the quiet hallway near the restrooms. “We spent it on Tyler’s wedding, Ben,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “He’s family.” “All of it?” I asked, breathless. “Six hundred thousand for his house. A hundred thousand for the honeymoon and the new car. Thirty thousand for tonight… and the fifty thousand we just gave them as a gift.” My mother joined us, her eyes red-rimmed. “You’re successful, Ben! You’ve always been the smart one, the one who could handle himself. But Tyler… if we didn’t help him, he’d never have anything! He’d be alone!” I looked at them—really looked at them. For ten years, I had been their safety net. I’d paid their mortgage, their insurance, their lifestyle. And here they were, exhausted and broke, having bled themselves dry for a cousin who had never worked a day in his life. I nodded slowly, a single, bitter laugh escaping my throat as the tears finally came. “I get it now,” I said. “I was never the son. I was just the bank.” I looked my mother in the eye. “From this moment on, consider me dead. You don’t have a son anymore.” 1 I turned on my heel and walked. I was halfway across the grand ballroom when Tiffany’s voice rang out over the speakers. “Bennett Miller! You forgot your gift!” I stopped. The room went silent. I turned back, my gaze fixed on the happy couple on the stage. Tyler was wearing a smug, “nice guy” mask, holding a microphone. “Hey, come on, Tiff,” Tyler said, his voice dripping with faux-sympathy. “Big city life is expensive. A thousand or so is plenty for a guy like Ben. It’s the thought that counts, right?” I realized then that I still hadn’t taken my check back. I walked back to the head table through a sea of stunned faces. I snatched the envelope, then reached over and took the microphone right out of the MC’s hand. “Good evening, everyone,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “Since my cousin’s house, his car, and every single flower in this room were paid for using my family’s inheritance—money my parents conveniently forgot to tell me existed—I have a public announcement to make.” I looked directly at my parents. “From this day forward, Tyler and Tiffany will be responsible for my parents’ retirement, their medical care, and eventually, their funerals. Since they have the money, they have the duty.” I looked back at the crowd. “As of today, I, Bennett Miller, am officially done with this family. No more checks. No more favors.” I looked at Tyler. “Keep the change, cousin. I hope she was worth it.” I dropped the mic. The thud echoed through the hall as I walked out the double doors and never looked back. The second I hit the sidewalk, my phone started screaming. My dad called, then my mom. I declined them both and blocked the numbers. I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me straight to the airport. I didn’t care where I was going, as long as it was back to my life in the city. By the time I unlocked my apartment door, the “Extended Family” group chat was a war zone. I had dozens of messages from my parents’ burner accounts. “Bennett, you went too far! Do you have any idea how embarrassed your uncle was?” “We’re family! Helping Tyler was a family decision! Why are you acting like a child?” “Tiffany almost called off the wedding tonight because of the scene you made! You need to come home tomorrow and apologize!” I scrolled through them with a numb heart and deleted every single one. I opened the group chat—over a hundred unread messages. My parents were in there frantically telling everyone I was “just stressed” and “joking.” I typed out one final message: “Every word I said at the wedding was the truth. I am legally and emotionally done with the Millers. Whoever took the money can take the responsibility of caring for my parents. Goodbye.” I hit send and left the group. A second later, my Aunt Martha called. She didn’t even say hello before she started screaming. “Are you insane? Your father’s heart is weak, and you’re in there starting fires! He’s in the ER right now because of your stunt, and your mother’s blood pressure is through the roof!” “Then call Tyler,” I said. “He has six hundred thousand dollars of my father’s money. He can pay the hospital bill.” “How can you be so cold?” she gasped. “It’s just money, Bennett! You’re talking about your own flesh and blood over a few hundred grand!” “’Just’ a few hundred grand?” I let out a jagged laugh. “If it’s so little, Martha, why don’t you write me a check for it?” Silence. Then, the excuses started. “Tyler just… he doesn’t have your grit, Ben. He needed a head start. Your parents did it because they love him. They said it was just a loan, he’ll pay it back eventually.” “With what? He’s thirty years old and still ‘finding himself.’ He can’t even pay for his own Netflix. They’ve been giving him ‘loans’ my entire life, and not a single dime has ever come back.” I felt a heat rising in my chest. “I’ve spent seven years grinding in this city, and every promotion I got, half the raise went back to them. Three years ago, when they wanted to remodel the house? I gave them sixty thousand dollars—my entire savings. Two years ago, when Dad broke his hip? I was the one who flew back and paid for the private nurse. Last year…” My voice cracked. “Last year, when Mom’s kidneys were failing, I was the one who went under the knife. I gave her my literal kidney so she could live. And this is how they repay me? By giving my future away to a spoiled brat behind my back?” Martha stayed quiet for a long time. “You did those things because you’re a good son, Ben. But—” “I gave them my money, my time, and a piece of my body,” I interrupted. “I’ve paid my debt for being born. Tell them that from now on, whether they live or die is no longer my concern.” I hung up and blocked her, too. I blocked every cousin, every uncle, every family friend who tried to ‘mediate.’ Finally, the silence was absolute. But inside, I felt like a hollowed-out tree—wide open and aching. 2 My screen lit up again. This time it was my landlord. “Hey Ben, just a heads-up. Starting next month, your rent is going up by three hundred. Are you planning to renew?” I stared at the text. “Everywhere else is going down, Mrs. Gable. Why the hike?” “Location, honey. You’re right next to the tech hub. I’ve got a dozen people asking for that unit. I’m giving you a deal at three hundred.” I opened my banking app. $3,500 in my checking. Plus the $1,500 check I’d taken back from the wedding. Five thousand dollars. That was it. After eight years of high-level marketing work, I didn’t even have fifty thousand dollars to my name. I didn’t own a car. I didn’t own a home. I had spent my youth building a foundation for people who had just set fire to mine. I couldn’t stay in this apartment. Not anymore. A week later, I found a place. It was an hour and a half outside the city, a tiny basement studio in a house owned by a grandmotherly woman who only charged eight hundred a month. The commute was a nightmare—four hours a day on the train—but it was the only way I could start saving for a life that was actually mine. A month passed. I lost weight. The bags under my eyes became permanent fixtures. One evening, after a grueling twelve-hour shift, I walked out of my office building and stopped dead. Two figures were standing by the fountain, clutching worn duffel bags. My parents. My mother’s face crumpled the moment she saw me. “Bennett! Oh, thank God. We’ve been waiting for hours!” I felt a flicker of something—pity, maybe—but it was quickly extinguished by a cold wall of granite. “How did you find me?” “We called your old roommate,” my father said, his voice small and desperate. “You blocked us. We didn’t know what else to do.” “We brought you those lemon bars you like,” my mother said, holding out a plastic container. “I remember you said you lived close to the office. Can we go home? I’ll make you a real dinner.” “I moved,” I said shortly. My mother blinked, confused. “Moved? Why? You loved that place.” I didn’t answer. My father looked around at the towering glass buildings, uncomfortable. “Well, wherever it is, let’s go. It’s cold out here, and your mother’s legs are bothering her.” “You aren’t coming to my home,” I said. “I told you. We’re done.” My father’s face hardened. “Bennett, enough of this! We drove six hours to see you! You can’t just turn us away like dogs!” “I didn’t ask you to come.” He went red, the old entitlement flaring up. “I don’t care! We’re here now! You aren’t leaving us on the street!” I sighed, pulled out my phone, and booked the cheapest motel nearby. I sent the confirmation to his phone. “You’re staying there tonight. Tomorrow, you go back to Tyler.” I turned to walk away. My mother grabbed my sleeve, thrusting the lemon bars at me. “Ben, please, just take these…” “I don’t want them.” I shoved the container back, and it hit the pavement, the bars scattering across the concrete. My father exploded. “Are you happy now? Your mother spent all day in a hot kitchen making those for you! Look at her hands—she burned herself twice!” I looked at her hands, and for a second, my heart twisted. But then I remembered the million-dollar check they’d signed over to Tyler. “You’ve always done that,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You give me these cheap, meaningless gestures—cookies, a hand-knit scarf—to prove you ‘care.’ But when it comes to the things that actually matter—my future, my security, my dignity—you throw me to the wolves. If you had an ounce of conscience left, you’d leave me alone.” I gave them one final warning: “If you show up at my office again, I’ll quit. I’ll move to another state and change my name. Don’t test me.”

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I woke up in a room that smelled too much like bleach and lost time. The doctor leaned over me, his expression unreadable behind a surgical mask. “The amnesia is likely a temporary side effect of the concussion,” he said, his voice a smooth, professional baritone. Then he gestured to the room at large. “Tell me, Tess. Which one is your current boyfriend?” I looked at the men flanking my bed. I pointed tentatively to the man on the left—the one in the sharp, charcoal-grey suit. The doctor’s eyes darkened. “Your current boyfriend.” I shifted my finger, pointing toward the man on the right—the one in the leather racing jacket who looked like he’d just stepped off a track in Monte Carlo. The doctor gritted his teeth, his words coming out in a slow, dangerous clip. “Cur-rent. Boy-friend.” I hesitated, my heart hammering against my ribs. Finally, trembling, I pointed to the man standing directly in the center: the doctor himself. He slowly reached up and pulled down his mask. A cold, predatory smile spread across his face. “Perfect. So, baby… it seems that besides me, you’ve been seeing three others.” I didn’t wait for an explanation. I scrambled toward the window, ready to hurl myself out. Suddenly, a flicker of translucent text—like a digital ghost—scrolled across my vision: [Finally, the villainess is checking out. Quick, jump! Let the fourth psycho catch her and drag her into his basement. Let the torture begin!] Wait. What? But it was too late. I had already jumped. 1 It started because of a damn TikTok. I was walking, glued to my phone, laughing at a video of a cat wearing a tiny hat, when I completely missed a step. I went tumbling down a flight of stairs like a discarded ragdoll. The good news: I was physically fine. The bad news: My memory was a total blank slate. I had no idea who I was, let alone who I was dating. When the nurse told me to call “family” to come pick me up, I opened my contacts. There were only four entries. One was saved as a “Wrench” icon. I figured that was my mechanic. Pass. The other three were… a problem. They were saved as: Husband 1, Husband 2, and Husband 3. I checked the area codes. They were from three different states. Strange. Did my “husband” have three different burner phones? Whatever. I picked Husband 1 and hit dial. He picked up on the first ring. “What is it?” his voice was icy, detached. What kind of attitude was that? Was he an ex I’d forgotten to rename? That would explain why I had a Husband 2. I hung up immediately. Next. I called Husband 2. He didn’t answer right away. I was just about to hang up and try Number 3 when the line clicked open. His voice was a low, melodic bass, but it dripped with sarcasm. “Finally decided to call back? Tell me, who was the guy who answered your phone earlier? I thought you said you were done with them. That I was the only one.” My brain stalled. What guy? I didn’t know. I hung up. Too much drama. Husband 3 didn’t pick up either, but a text popped up a second later: [You’re awake? I’m on my way. Are you hungry?] I let out a long, shaky breath. Finally! Husband 3 was clearly the winner. The others were probably just messy flings I hadn’t cleared out of my digital life yet. From now on, I was going to be a one-man woman. A paragon of loyalty. I texted back: [Hey honey, can you bring me a venti iced matcha latte? Extra cold foam, no sugar, extra ice?] He replied instantly: [Of course.] 2 The thought of my latte improved my mood significantly. I leaned back against the hospital pillows, scrolling through my phone. The room was a high-end private suite. It was mid-afternoon, and the winter sun flooded the space, making me feel warm and pleasantly drowsy. Then a thought hit me: I didn’t even know what my boyfriend looked like. What if he was hideous? We all know how love-blind people can be. I needed to check my photos while I was still “unbiased.” If he was a troll, I was making a run for it. … I spent thirty minutes scrolling. Nothing. Out of ten thousand photos, five thousand were selfies. Two thousand were random stray cats. The remaining three thousand were meticulously filtered shots of brunch, pasta, and expensive cocktails. God, Tess. You were really into yourself, weren’t you? Well, judging by my own face in these selfies, I had high standards. I probably wouldn’t date someone ugly. “Tess?” I looked up. A tall, lean man in a white lab coat entered the room. He wore a mask, but his eyes were striking—sharp, intelligent, and framed by thick lashes. He asked the standard questions. Does your head hurt? Any dizziness? Then he leaned in. “How is the memory coming along? If the fog doesn’t lift, we might need to consider… more aggressive therapies.” Images of electric shock therapy and forced lobotomies from old movies flashed through my mind. I waved my hands frantically. “It’s back! It’s all back, Doctor! Seriously! I remember everything now. I feel great!” “Is that so?” He tilted his head. “Then what’s my name?” I squinted at his ID badge. “Dr. Bennett. Why wouldn’t I know that?” His gaze lingered on mine. He looked so serious that my stomach twisted. Was I dying? Was he trying to find the words to tell me I had three days to live? I clutched my chest. “Just give it to me straight, Doc. I can take it. I’m a tough girl.” After a long silence, he pressed his lips together. “We’ll do one more check-up. If everything is clear, you can leave.” Jerk. Why make it so dramatic? 3 The doctor left, only to return an hour later with two other men in tow. The man on the left was in a tailored navy suit. Powerful build, cold expression. He wore rimless glasses that made him look like a high-stakes attorney or a CEO who fired people for breakfast. He looked like he was vibrating with a controlled, low-frequency rage. The other guy looked like he’d just come from a racetrack. He was wearing a red-and-black racing suit, unzipped halfway to reveal a black compression shirt. His hair was a mess, and his eyes—dark and slightly upturned—were pinned on me like I was a target. I froze. What was this? A lineup? The doctor’s voice was flat. “Which one is your current boyfriend?” I hate multiple-choice questions. I pointed to the suit. He had “husband energy.” The doctor’s face fell. “Current. Boyfriend.” Wait, wrong? I looked at the racer. He looked like the kind of mistake a girl like me would make. I pointed to him. “Current,” the doctor repeated, his voice dropping an octave. “Boyfriend.” Was this a trick? Was it none of them? I pointed at the empty air between them. The doctor let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Your. Current. Boyfriend.” I realized then, with a sinking feeling, that the right answer was in the room. I scanned them again. Then, trembling, I pointed to the man in the white coat. Dr. Bennett pulled off his mask. His smile was chilling. “Excellent. It turns out, baby, that besides me, there are actually three more.” 4 My blood turned to ice. There were only three men here. Where was the fourth? Waiting in the parking lot? I didn’t care. I needed to leave. If these three teamed up, they would ruin me. I didn’t even grab my shoes. I bolted for the window. We were on the second floor. I could make the jump. I was fast. Before they could react, I was halfway out the ledge. Below, a sleek convertible was parked with the top down. The keys were in the ignition, and the owner was nowhere to be seen. It was a sign from God. An escape vehicle. I’m jumping! That’s when the text flickered in my eyes again: [The villainess is finally doomed. Jump right into the hands of the fourth psycho. He’s going to lock you in a dark room and never let you out.] [Ugh, I wish all four of them would just team up and break her already. She’s such a brat. If it weren’t for her, our sweet Heroine would be living her best life by now.] Shut up! Why tell me now? I’m already in the air! 5 The wind roared in my ears. I saw the leather seats of the convertible rushing up to meet me. The good news: I landed perfectly in the passenger seat. The bad news: I was caught. A hand, cold and incredibly strong, clamped around my wrist. I turned to see a man I hadn’t noticed before. He was pale—ghostly pale—and he was looking at me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I tried to scramble out, but his arms wrapped around me like iron bands. “Got you.” I looked up at the hospital window. Three faces appeared in a row. Dr. Bennett was already sprinting toward the stairs. The CEO in the suit had his jaw set so tight I thought his teeth might crack. The racer cursed loudly and looked like he was about to jump down after me. But the man holding me—Kael—didn’t even look at them. He leaned over, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my collarbone, a sharp, playful nip that made me shiver with terror. “Let’s go home.” He hit the ignition. The convertible top began to slide shut, cutting off the three pairs of murderous eyes watching us from above.

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Julian came to the orphanage to pick a sister. All the girls crowded around, praying they would be the lucky one chosen. I was the only one hiding in a closet, fast asleep. I thought that by doing this, I could escape the miserable fate of my past life—becoming the Sterling family’s adopted daughter, and eventually, Julian’s wife. I thought I could finally live a free, happy life this time around. But when I woke up, Julian was standing right in front of the closet doors. He smiled and asked, “Luna, come home with me. Okay?” 01 When Julian’s face appeared in front of me, I honestly thought I was still stuck in my nightmare. It wasn’t until the orphanage director called my name sternly, “Luna, what are you doing sleeping in here?” I snapped back to reality and realized this wasn’t a dream. Seeing me frozen in shock, the director reached in and pulled me out of the closet. She smoothed my collar and pushed me toward Mr. and Mrs. Sterling. “You fell asleep, and Young Master Julian insisted we shouldn’t wake you.” “We’ve all been waiting for you.” Julian, the young master in question, was standing in front of his parents. He looked at me with a faint smile playing on his lips. The Julian standing before me right now was very different from the cold, distant Julian etched into my memory. He initiated the greeting: “Hello, Luna.” I didn’t know why, but hearing my name coming from his mouth felt incredibly bizarre. I frowned and quickly averted my gaze. My mind was racing. They had so many other girls to choose from. Why did they insist on waiting for me? “Waiting for me? For what?” The director bent down to explain: “They want to adopt you. Luna is finally going to have a home, with a mom, a dad, and a big brother.” The normally strict, unsmiling director was actually smiling at me. I guess she was genuinely happy for me. For an orphan, being adopted is the ultimate stroke of luck. But the director didn’t know: I had been reborn. I knew Julian was coming to the orphanage today to pick a sister, which is exactly why I deliberately hid in the closet. “Luna, come home with us, okay?” Mrs. Sterling took my hand, her voice gentle: “Julian has always wanted a little sister. From now on, you’ll be his sister.” This scene was playing out exactly like my past life. Memories from that life flashed through my mind like a slideshow. I immediately yanked my hand back and looked up at the director. “Director, I don’t want them to adopt me.” My words shocked everyone in the room. The most intense reaction came from Julian. His brows furrowed as he asked, “Why not?” “Because I don’t want to be your sister.” Even though I flatly rejected him, Julian didn’t show a single trace of anger. Instead, his tone grew even softer, laced with an almost imperceptible indulgence. “Then you don’t have to be my sister. Just come back to the Sterling estate with me and live with us. How about that?” The director discreetly tugged on my sleeve, but she couldn’t stop me from rejecting Julian a second time. “No.” I thought Julian would just give up. But when the director tentatively asked the Sterlings if they wanted to choose a different girl, Julian suddenly spoke up, his voice loud and clear: “Mom, I only want her.” He said, “She is the only one who looks exactly like my sister.” 02 In my past life, the reason Julian chose me out of all the girls was also because I looked a bit like his deceased younger sister. Back then, when I found out I was chosen, I thought the heavens were finally blessing me. I was taken to the Sterling estate and renamed Luna Sterling. I was given my very own room in their massive, luxurious mansion. Even though I knew that room didn’t truly belong to me, I was still incredibly content. Mrs. Sterling told me, “Children from orphanages naturally have a certain… lower-class demeanor. The way they speak and act simply isn’t presentable.” So, I worked tirelessly to erase all my old habits, becoming less and less like my true self. Mrs. Sterling was incredibly strict with me. I was forced to practice the piano for over twelve hours every single day. Even when my instructor explicitly told her I had absolutely no natural talent for it, Mrs. Sterling still stood over me, forcing me to practice daily. But some things just can’t be forced. “I’m sorry, Mom. I still can’t play it right.” Every time I apologized, Mrs. Sterling would look at me with even more affection and comfort me. “It’s okay. As long as my Luna keeps trying, you’ll definitely be able to play it perfectly one day.” I only found out later that playing the piano was her deceased daughter’s favorite hobby. Mrs. Sterling wasn’t nurturing me; she was just using me to find the shadow of someone else. But I didn’t care about any of that. A dying fish doesn’t care if the water it’s given is clean; it just wants to survive. Water to a fish was like love to me. As long as I had it, I was happy. I practiced the piano even harder. I tried even harder to please Mrs. Sterling. We began to look more and more like a real mother and daughter. Until the night of Julian’s engagement party. He was drugged, and I just happened to accidentally walk into his room. When Mr. Sterling saw Julian and me, he was so furious he passed out. Mrs. Sterling slapped me hard across the face. “I never should have brought you into this family.” Julian stared at me in silence. I couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. But I assumed he was regretting it too. Regretting that he had ever chosen me to be his sister. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t drug my brother.” I tried desperately to defend myself, but no one believed me. So much so that later, when Julian cheated on me and betrayed our marriage countless times, he would always say: “You were willing to use drugs just to force your own brother to marry you. Everything happening now is just your karma.” Julian hated me. That’s why, after we got married, he loved humiliating me in public. Many people in our social circle took bets on how long our marriage would last. “A year, tops. Once she has the kid, Julian will kick her to the curb.” Unfortunately, the outcome shocked everyone. Julian and I were entangled in a toxic, agonizing marriage for nineteen years. Even after I died, the words Wife of Julian Sterling were carved into my tombstone. “Luna, tell me the truth. Why don’t you want to be adopted by the Sterling family?” After Julian and his parents left, the director called me into her office. I stayed silent for a long time before throwing out a random excuse: “I don’t want to leave you and everyone else.” The director sighed and urged me to reconsider. I knew she meant well. She just wanted me to have a better life. But I refused to repeat the nightmare of my past life. I didn’t want anything to do with Julian ever again. However, a massive fire that night destroyed all my plans. 03 “Did you start the fire?” In the hospital, I glared coldly at Julian and interrogated him. “No,” Julian quickly explained. “The fire department already confirmed it was caused by faulty, aging electrical wiring.” After saying that, he let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Luna, you think entirely too poorly of me.” In this life, I had only met him two or three times, yet his attitude toward me carried a bizarre, inexplicable familiarity. “I just want to help you.” “If you agree to come home with me, I’ll pay for all of the director’s medical bills.” During the fire last night, the director suffered severe, third-degree burns while trying to save us. I scoffed coldly, mocking him: “Taking advantage of someone’s tragedy. Do you consider yourself a good person?” Julian didn’t try to defend himself. He simply said, “Luna, if you don’t want to be my sister, that’s fine.” “You can just be fostered by the Sterling family.” He was coaxing me, compromising step by step. But that only made me more suspicious. “Why are you so obsessed with bringing me back to the Sterling house?” Julian replied, “Because my mom has been missing my sister terribly lately, and you look a lot like her.” “I just want to bring you home to keep her company.” I was highly skeptical of his excuse. After all, his behavior toward me was completely abnormal. I asked him, “Is that really it?” Julian hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “That’s really it.” Even though I desperately wanted to avoid Julian, the director was still lying critically ill in a hospital bed. On the ride to the Sterling estate, Julian kept trying to talk to me, but I remained stubbornly silent. He probably realized he was being annoying, so he softened his tone, trying to justify himself. “The Sterling family can provide you with a much better life. No matter how you look at it, it’s better than the orphanage.” “Luna, don’t blame me. I’m doing this for your own good.” I’m doing this for your own good… The Julian from my past life used to say that exact same phrase. Julian hated me for the vast majority of my life. It wasn’t until I was dying that his attitude toward me finally softened slightly. But by then, I was beyond medical help. My only companion every day was a small cat. One day, on a whim, Julian returned to the villa to see me and ordered someone to throw away the cat I had been raising for six months. I asked him, “Why?” He looked down at me and said, “I’m doing this for your own good.” I knew then that when he said “for your own good,” he didn’t actually mean it. It was just a convenient excuse to satisfy his own selfish desires and need for control. Or perhaps it was just another method of torturing me. After all, that was his modus operandi. Whatever I loved, he destroyed. … As soon as the car pulled up to the Sterling estate, I saw Mrs. Sterling already waiting by the front door. Julian had told her in advance that he was bringing me back. So she had instructed the staff to prepare a room on the second floor early on. “Luna, this will be your room from now on.” Mrs. Sterling affectionately took my hand. “Do you like it?” I lowered my eyes, staring at my hand enveloped in hers for a moment, then gently pulled it away. I was no longer the Luna from my past life, desperately starving for a mother’s love. “Mrs. Sterling, this is your biological daughter’s room, isn’t it?” “There are so many of her old things in here, and you’ve kept them all perfectly preserved.” “It’s obvious you cherish these things deeply.” “If I stay in this room and accidentally break something, it would definitely break your heart.” “I noticed there are guest rooms downstairs. I’ll just stay in one of those.” Mrs. Sterling looked at me, clearly wanting to argue. “But…” Julian cut her off. “Mom.” “If Luna wants to stay downstairs, have the maids prepare a room for her.” I glanced at Julian, who was unexpectedly speaking up for me. He probably didn’t know that my main reason for refusing the second-floor room was because his bedroom was right next door. In my past life, before Julian’s engagement, we actually got along fairly well. During my teenage years, Mrs. Sterling even asked me, “Luna, what kind of boys do you like?” I looked at Julian, who had just returned from a run, and joked, “I like boys like my big brother.” That innocent, offhand joke eventually became the “proof” that I drugged him years later. Every time I tried to defend myself: “I didn’t drug you.” Julian would grab me by the throat and counter: “You said you liked me when you were sixteen.” “You loved me for all those years, and eventually you even stooped to drugging me to force me to marry you. Why don’t you have the guts to admit it now?” 04 Probably because I was back in this same villa, that night I dreamt about things from my past life. During the final days of my life, my doctor told me, “Being alone all day like this isn’t good for you. Call your family or friends to come keep you company.” “I don’t have any family.” As for friends… My best friend in the past used to be Julian’s fiancée, Chloe Evans. It wasn’t until the fifth year of my marriage to Julian that Chloe finally returned from abroad. Julian personally picked her up from the airport and threw a massive welcome-back party for her. Someone intentionally recorded a video at the party and sent it to me—the two of them sitting in a dimly lit corner, kissing passionately. A video that was only a few seconds long. I watched it on loop for an entire night. It was also that night that I made my final decision. I aborted what would have been my second child with Julian and handed him divorce papers. He asked me, “What’s your reason?” I showed him the video on my phone. “Julian, I know you were forced to marry me.” “But now that Chloe is back, and it looks like she’s forgiven you, let’s get a divorce. We can both move on and live our own lives.” Actually, I had brought up divorce multiple times before that. But he rejected me every single time. I thought that with Chloe back, he would finally agree. But Julian still ripped my carefully prepared divorce papers to shreds and deleted the video from my phone. … “Luna? Luna?” I jolted awake in a panic and instinctively slapped the face leaning over me. The teenage Julian looked down at me, his eyes filled with grievance. “I heard you crying from the hallway, so I came in to check on you.” With that, he turned and walked toward the door. He paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “Hurry up and get ready for breakfast. We’re going to be late for school.” Just like in my past life, the Sterling family transferred me to Julian’s elite high school. Seeing me following behind him into the classroom, someone asked, “Julian, who is she?” Julian introduced me: “Her name is Luna. She’s currently staying with my family.” In a daze, I remembered my past life. Before the drugging incident ruined everything, Julian always introduced me by saying, “This is my little sister, Luna.” I looked at Julian, who was standing just a step away. I suddenly realized that he seemed very different from the Julian in my memories. He didn’t act like the teenage Julian from my past life, nor did he act like the older Julian who was constantly seeking revenge and torturing me. My heart skipped a beat as a sudden thought struck me. “Julian.” “Julian.” Just as I called his name, preparing to voice my suspicions, someone else called him at the exact same time. Julian glanced at me, then looked past me toward the door. I turned around as well. The person standing in the doorway calling him was Chloe Evans. “Julian, wait for me after school. I need to talk to you.” After saying that, Chloe finally noticed me standing next to him. The look she gave me was anything but friendly. She looked me up and down like she was sizing up an opponent. “So you’re the girl staying at the Sterling house?” After all, she was my best friend in my past life. The second Chloe looked at me, I could feel a very obvious, palpable hostility radiating from her. This was completely different from my past life. In my past life, when Chloe found out I was Julian’s sister, she immediately linked her arm through mine, affectionately called me Luna, and dragged me into her elite social circle. But right now, her attitude toward me was remarkably similar to the very last time I saw her in my past life. Our final meeting had ended terribly. I had asked her, “The security footage showed that the only people who entered Julian’s room that day were you and me. I didn’t drug him. So it was you, wasn’t it?” Back then, I couldn’t figure it out. She loved Julian so much. Why would she intentionally ruin their own engagement party? “Her name is Luna,” Julian answered for me. Chloe looked at me, offered a tight, fake smile, and didn’t say anything else. Later, as I sat at my desk, I noticed Chloe constantly turning around to glare at me. Even though I found it bizarre, I forced myself to ignore her, focus on the blackboard, and pay attention to the lesson. 05 In my past life, I was a terrible student. But Mrs. Sterling never cared that my grades were awful. In fact, it seemed like the worse I did on exams, the happier she was. She always said, “Luna is becoming more and more like my Lily. She hated studying too.” A mother who truly loves her child plans for their future. What kind of mother actively wants her daughter to be a beautiful, useless idiot? Ultimately, she never truly viewed me as her daughter. To her, I was just a living toy to provide her with a little comfort. In this life, I refused to repeat the mistakes of the past. I refused to spend the first half of my life acting as a substitute for a dead girl, and the second half living as a useless caged bird, dying a miserable death. Studying was my only way out. But studying is incredibly difficult when you’re starting from the bottom. Realizing that I genuinely couldn’t understand a single word in the textbooks, I stood up in frustration. Julian, who had been chatting with someone, noticed my movement. He turned and asked, “Where are you going?” I replied impatiently, “Restroom.” In my memory, the girls’ restroom in high school always had a massive line between classes. But surprisingly, I didn’t see anyone there today. It wasn’t until I pushed open the main door that I realized something was wrong. Several girls inside all turned their heads simultaneously to look at me standing in the doorway. The girl closest to me was Chloe. She dropped her cigarette, glanced at the girl they had pinned to the wet floor—who was covered in dirty water—and then walked toward me. She smiled. “Just playing a little joke on her. Just messing around.” “You won’t tell Julian, right?” Looking at the cigarette butt on the floor, I suddenly realized I never truly knew Chloe at all. Otherwise, how could I not have known that in high school, she smoked and actively bullied her classmates? I thought for a moment and said, “I’m not that close with Julian anyway.” “Really?” Chloe asked, though her expression clearly relaxed. “Aren’t you living at his house?” I met her gaze. “I’m staying at his house, yes. But we aren’t close.” Chloe nodded. “Good.” With that, she quickly led her group out of the restroom. Once they were gone, I finally looked down at the girl on the floor. I quickly looked away and walked into a stall. When I came out, the girl was standing by the mop sink, her back to me. She was only wearing a camisole. She was rinsing the shirt she had been wearing under the faucet. Hearing the stall door open, she hurriedly wrung out the wet shirt, put it right back on, and kept her head down as she quickly tried to run out. As she passed me, I suddenly reached out and grabbed her arm. The girl looked up at me in confusion, and I looked back at her. After a long, silent moment of eye contact, I finally remembered her name. Mia. I took off my uniform jacket and tossed it to her. “Your shirt is soaking wet. Wear mine.” Mia immediately lowered her head again and refused. “No thank you.” “Your wet shirt is practically transparent. You can see your undershirt.” My words caused Mia’s ears to flush a deep, burning red. She awkwardly raised her arms to cover her chest. She hesitated for a long time before finally accepting my jacket. Seeing Mia walk into a stall to change, I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. I’m not usually someone who likes to meddle in other people’s business. But in my past life, just a few days after I transferred to this school, Mia jumped off the school roof and died. The school claimed it was due to family issues and the overwhelming pressure of her studies. But looking at her now, the reason for her suicide was clearly much more complicated. It was a young life, after all… “Thank you.” Mia, now wearing my jacket, thanked me. “You’re welcome” was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back down. After a moment of thought, I asked her, “Your grades must be really good, right?” I remembered that before Mia jumped, she was ranked number one in our entire grade. She froze for a second, then nodded. “They’re okay.” “Mia.” I glanced at my jacket she was wearing. “I’ll lend you my jacket, and you tutor me.” I didn’t give her a chance to refuse. I kept talking: “After the upcoming pop quiz, we get to pick new seats based on our rankings. We should sit together so it’s easier for you to tutor me.” Mia hesitated for a long time before finally agreeing. After school, Julian stubbornly insisted that I ride home in his car with him. But as soon as I got in the car, Chloe stopped him. “Julian, can we talk?” I wasn’t interested in their drama, and I certainly didn’t want to eavesdrop. But it was quiet around the cars, Chloe was highly emotional, and her voice was very loud. The wind carried their conversation straight into my ears. Chloe asked Julian, “Did you break up with me because of Luna?” “Julian, we’ve been together for so long. The second Luna shows up, you dump me. I can’t think of any other reason.” Julian’s tone was helpless. “It has nothing to do with anyone else.” “Chloe, I just realized that my feelings for you aren’t romantic. I’ve always just seen you as a sister.” In an instant, I understood why Chloe had been paying so much attention to me today, constantly turning around to glare at me during class. 06 During dinner, Mrs. Sterling suddenly announced, “Luna, I hired a piano teacher for you today. Starting tomorrow…” She was cut off by Julian before she could finish. “Mom, Luna doesn’t like playing the piano. Don’t force your own hobbies onto her.” Mrs. Sterling offered an awkward smile but didn’t argue further. I looked up at Julian, my previous suspicions now fully confirmed. In this life, I had never told Julian that I didn’t like playing the piano. The only person who knew I hated the piano was the Julian from my past life. It happened when my illness took a sharp turn for the worse after he threw away my cat. Julian, who mutually despised me, surprisingly dropped all his work and moved back into the villa to take care of me. It happened to coincide with our 19th wedding anniversary. Julian gifted me a custom Steinway piano, flown in from overseas. Even when I told him, “I don’t like the piano. The only reason I ever learned was because your mom liked it.” Julian simply bought me an extravagant set of jewelry later that same night to make up for it. He had suddenly transformed into a completely different person, treating me with meticulous care and patience. “How do you know Luna doesn’t like the piano?” Refusing to give up entirely, Mrs. Sterling asked me again, “Luna, do you want to learn to play?” I pulled myself back to the present and politely declined with a smile. “Mrs. Sterling, I really need to focus on my studies. I honestly don’t have the time to learn the piano right now.” After dinner, as I was heading back to my room to rest, Julian stopped me. “Luna.” “Tomorrow after the quiz, we get to pick our seats based on our rank. Where do you want to sit?” When I didn’t answer, Julian continued, “How about the fifth row by the window? Is that okay?” That was exactly the seat I occupied throughout high school in my past life. Julian stared at me intensely, desperately waiting for my response. I gave him a long, hard look before saying dismissively, “Whatever.” My brush-off seemed to make Julian incredibly happy. Until the next day. When he watched me walk right past him and take the empty seat next to Mia. “Luna,” Julian called out to me in front of the whole class. His lips twitched into a strained smile as he asked, “Did you… take the wrong seat?” “Nope.” Julian stood there awkwardly. It took him a long time before he silently sat down elsewhere. “You had the first pick for seats! Why did you choose this one?” I couldn’t help but complain to Mia. Mia had picked a terrible seat—dead center, right in the very first row. “I’m nearsighted. If I sit any further back, I can’t read the chalkboard.” She didn’t usually wear glasses. Seeing my skeptical look, Mia openly explained, “I don’t have any extra money, so I never got glasses made.” “Oh.” I pouted. “I thought you were just worried someone would want to sit next to you, so you intentionally picked the worst seat in the class to save it for me.” Mia looked up from her test paper and told me with absolute honesty, “You’re overthinking it.” Regardless of whether I was overthinking it or not. After school, I dragged Mia to an optometrist near the campus and forcefully bought her a pair of prescription glasses. I used the excuse: “If you can’t see the board and your grades drop, who’s going to tutor me?” “Consider these glasses your tutoring fee.” I was using Julian’s money anyway. He owed me so much; spending a little of his money was the least he could do. I originally just wanted to get Mia some glasses, but I never expected it to make her cry. When she was being bullied by Chloe and her gang, Mia hadn’t shed a single tear. But when I put the glasses on her face, she started sobbing uncontrollably. Mia kept choking out, “Luna, when I have money in the future, I will definitely pay you back.” It took forever to calm her down. When I got back to the classroom building, Julian cornered me in the stairwell. He interrogated me: “Why didn’t you pick the seat we agreed on?” “Who agreed to anything with you?” I retorted impatiently. “Julian, did I ever make a promise to you?” Julian was instantly silenced. He stared at me for a long time before finally saying, “Luna, why is everything so different?” “Are you also…” I smiled and looked right back at him. “Am I also what?” Unfortunately, Julian didn’t answer me. But the fact that he cornered me in the stairwell quickly reached Chloe’s ears. After class, Chloe came over specifically to warn me: “Stay away from Julian.” Out of concern, Mia also advised me: “Luna, you really should stay away from Julian. Try not to interact with him.” To convince me, she proactively brought up the real reason Chloe had been bullying her. “Julian only asked me for help with one math problem, and Chloe immediately accused me of trying to seduce him.” “Luna, Chloe is not someone you want to mess with. I’m worried she’s going to target you.” I would love nothing more than to stay as far away from Julian as possible, but the guy was like a clingy ghost. He would constantly appear right next to me when I least expected it. I let out a silent sigh. I put down my workbook, reached over, and hugged a very worried-looking Mia. “Don’t worry.” However, Mia’s worries quickly came true.

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“If you ever want a divorce, you can have it at any time.” That was what Julian told me on our wedding day. I believed him. Two months later, the day his true love returned, I placed the divorce papers in front of him. Julian looked out the window, his expression completely blank. “It’s raining.” “I’m in a bad mood. Let’s divorce next time.” I stared at him. What?! 1 On the very night his beloved Chloe returned, fueled by the liquid courage of too many drinks, I slept with Julian. The trail of discarded clothes, starting right from the front door, was a testament to the desperate urgency of the encounter. Julian fought to keep his rationality, trying to push me away. His bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly. “Mia, look at me. Look closely at who I am.” “If we keep going, don’t regret it.” I was panting slightly. Looking up at him, I grabbed his collar, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him. What a joke. I’m sleeping with my legal husband. What’s there to regret? It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that I actually started regretting it. This guy’s stamina was terrifying. I tried to sneak away, but a hand wrapped around my ankle and dragged me right back. Warm breath ghosted over my ear. Julian’s voice was deep and husky, brushing against the back of my neck and sending shivers down my spine. “Be a good girl. Quitting halfway through is strictly prohibited.” 2 It was a night of pure, reckless indulgence. When I woke up, the space beside me was empty. A glass of milk and a sandwich sat on the nightstand, along with a sticky note from Julian. The words were overflowing with tender concern. Since our wedding, Julian had diligently played the role of the perfect husband. I often caught myself under the illusion that I was actually loved. But rationality always pulled me back. Julian was in love with Chloe. The person he was originally supposed to marry was Chloe. But my sister, who had always done exactly as she pleased, became a runaway bride. I heard Julian chased her all the way to the airport. For whatever reason, she didn’t get on that flight to France. Out of spite and anger. Later, when the families tried to shove me—the older sister he barely knew—at him as a replacement, he didn’t fight it. It was only when I excused myself to the restroom that he finally let slip a hint of exhausted apathy toward our relatives’ endless teasing: “Do I even have the right to refuse?” “Since you’ve all decided, I don’t care.” Because I wasn’t the person in his heart, it didn’t matter who it was. Anyone would do. On our wedding day, the very first thing Julian said to me was: “If you ever want a divorce, you can have it at any time.” I didn’t expect that a mere two months after the wedding, Chloe would return. I’ve always known exactly where I stand. Ignoring the breakfast on the nightstand, I picked up my phone and called my lawyer, Elena. “Draft a divorce agreement for me, please.” Elena’s shocked, dramatic squawking echoed through the phone. Outside, the sun was shining brightly, but a sudden, heavy downpour began. I couldn’t help but zone out, lost in thought. 3 That same evening, I placed the divorce papers directly in front of Julian. In the quiet study, the man sat there in a crisp white dress shirt, radiating an aura of aristocratic elegance and gentleness. He was completely different from the boy in my memories. I had only seen Julian fight once. It was in a filthy, secluded alley near the old campus of the university. To inflict maximum pain, he held a solid metal Zippo lighter in his fist, his strikes brutal and merciless. The sound of shattering bone echoed in the air, mixing with the other man’s agonizing screams. His slightly youthful, handsome face looked almost demonic as it became splattered with crimson blood. That was the first time I met the person Chloe talked about constantly. The sole heir to the Sterling Conglomerate. Violent, arrogant, and entirely fearless. Perhaps because that summer was unusually hot and suffocatingly humid, I inexplicably despised him. My thoughts snapped back to the present. Julian was still staring silently at the piece of paper. It had been so long I started to question his literacy. I couldn’t help but ask: “Do you not know how to read?” Julian finally moved. He turned his head to look out the window, his expression completely blank. “It rained all day today.” I followed his gaze to the damp windowpanes. Okay, and? “I’m in a bad mood. Let’s divorce next time.” Me: ??? … Over the next two days, Julian and I engaged in a bizarre, unspoken tug-of-war. Our text history was stuck on a message I sent that morning, reminding him to sign the papers. He had intentionally ignored me again. Me: [You’re running away.] Julian: [Running away is shameful, but it works.] A moment later, my phone buzzed a few more times. [You sleep with me and then dump me. You’re heartless.] What is he talking about?! Aren’t I graciously making way for his true love? [Are you mad because I made you uncomfortable last night?] [Fine, I admit I don’t have much experience, but you acting like this is really embarrassing for me.] [Besides, you were clearly enjoying it later on. /frustrated emoji] His blatant, shameless texts made my face burn. [You were the one who said I could have a divorce anytime I wanted.] Julian: […] [You talk too much. I’m blocking you for half a day.] When I tried to reply. A system message popped up: The recipient has rejected your message. Me: ??? This guy is acting like a literal child. 4 I originally planned to go home tonight, tie him to a chair, and force him to sign the papers. But halfway there, I got a call from my family’s main estate. Sighing, I turned the car around and drove to the family home. As soon as I walked in, I heard laughter and cheerful chatter spilling from the living room. “Chloe is getting prettier every day.” Chloe was sitting in the center of the room. The teasing and compliments from our relatives had turned her face a flush, delicate pink, making her look like a perfectly ripe peach. “She looks so perfect with that Sterling boy. Such a shame.” “If you hadn’t run away from the wedding, you’d be the future matriarch of the Sterling family right now.” Chloe quickly tried to stop them. “Julian is already married to my sister. It’s inappropriate to make jokes like that.” The relatives were completely dismissive. “What’s inappropriate about it? They’re married, but they can still get divorced.” “As long as the Sterling family agrees, swapping brides is nothing.” These were all relatives from my father’s side of the family. They had never liked me. Because I looked exactly like my biological mother. That poor, tragic woman. She risked her entire inheritance from her father to help a ruined man rebuild his business empire from scratch. And in return, she was betrayed over and over again. Ultimately, driven insane by depression, she died alone in a remote sanatorium. I scoffed, clapping my hands slowly as I walked toward the crowd. “Since when did the Harrison family start encouraging girls to steal their brother-in-law?” “But you are right about one thing.” “I’ve already handed the divorce papers to Julian.” I stopped walking, locking eyes with Chloe’s wide, innocent doe eyes. The corners of my mouth curled into a mocking smirk. “Do you want to go cry and whine to him so he kicks me out faster? Then you can finally take my place.” “Just like your mother did.” Chloe’s face instantly drained of color. Tears immediately pooled in her eyes, creating a picture of fragile victimization that would make anyone’s heart ache. “You ungrateful wretch!” My father’s furious roar echoed from behind me. I whipped around, only to unexpectedly lock eyes with a pair of dark, deep-set eyes swirling with unreadable emotions. “…” Why the hell was Julian here?!

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The rich kid, Lucas Czuchry, faked bankruptcy, stealing my much-needed scholarship spot. Desperate for the money, I went to confront him, only to overhear his conversation with Jess Thorne. “Thanks to you, Jess, I managed to secure that scholarship. Couldn’t have done it without you.” Jess’s eyes, usually so bright, cast downwards, her tone cool and detached. “Liam is good in every way, but he’s too materialistic and shrewd. Letting him take a hit this time will help temper his character.” So, in her eyes, my poverty was merely “materialistic and shrewd.” We’d known each other for eight years, dated for two. This time, I decided to let go. 1 The private room pulsed with flashing lights and loud music, a blur of red and green. My heart throbbed as I listened to Lucas’s gushing words of gratitude. Someone, feigning a joke, quipped, “Jess, your boyfriend’s family is so poor, are you really letting him suffer?” Jess took a moment, then exhaled a long plume of smoke. “Liam is my boyfriend. If no one else sponsors him, I’ll support him myself.” Lucas, with a smug tilt of his chin, challenged, “Jess, you’re so good to Liam, we’re all jealous. But Liam’s not like us. What if he’s just after your money?” Jess leaned back into the sofa, her tone languid and tinged with condescension. “Liam is good in every way, but he’s too materialistic and shrewd. Letting him take a hit this time will help temper his character.” “You guys never saw it, but he once argued over ten bucks with someone. It was so embarrassing.” “But, if he really likes money, I have plenty. After all, keeping a little bird doesn’t cost much.” The room erupted in laughter, everyone praising Jess’s wisdom. Lucas snorted, “Are you really that fond of Liam?” Jess chuckled lightly, “Yes.” Ha. Is that so? My fists clenched. I couldn’t help but feel a little ridiculous. For two years, while dating Jess, I truly believed she loved me. Even she thought so. But what she loved was Liam—the ambitious, brilliant student who shone brightly at school. She ignored my poverty, the hardship of my struggle to survive, my faded clothes, and my worn-out shoes. A dismissive remark about me being “materialistic and shrewd” branded my very soul. Little did I know this wasn’t love, but a gaze. A condescending gaze from above. So, I pushed open the private room door and walked straight up to Jess, correcting her with a solemn voice: “No. Jess. “You don’t love me.” 2 A deathly silence fell over the private room. Jess had introduced me to her closest friends, so I was somewhat familiar with these faces today. People really are diverse, aren’t they? To my face, they’d call me “brother-in-law,” but behind my back, they reveled in my humiliation, using it for their entertainment. “Liam, you heard all that?” Jess’s eyes flickered. She tried to reach for my hand, but I pulled away. I’d never publicly embarrassed her before, and her face immediately darkened. I offered a slight smile, slipping off the couple’s ring from my finger. “In two years, I only ever asked you for one gift: a two-hundred-dollar matching ring.” My palm turned down, the silver band gleaming under the dim lights. Then, with a soft thud, I tossed it casually onto the floor. I met Jess’s furious gaze, speaking each word clearly and forcefully: “Consider us even. It’s yours now.” “CRASH!” Everyone flinched. Jess slammed her wine glass onto the floor, her eyes burning red. “Liam, are you serious? Over just one scholarship, you’re making such a scene!” Making a scene. The words stung coming from her lips. Jess had forgotten: in high school, to save money, I walked home every day. Some boys publicly called me a hypocrite, claiming a lean, good-looking guy like me was just playing innocent. All along the way, countless girls stared at me. My face flushed, my fists clenched, unsure how to retort. It was Jess who had stepped forward, kicking over the boy’s desk and shielding me. “Liam is mine. If I hear any of you say another bad word about him, try me.” The feeling of falling in love then was real. But the pain now was just as real. Oh, and that boy? That was Lucas. 3 I slowly pulled my thoughts back, my chest rising and falling, finally expelling a sigh of frustration. I figured it must have been Jess’s possessiveness, hearing Lucas mention girls staring at me, that made her so angry. So, it wasn’t entirely for me. It was purely about her pride. Lucas, with a taunting tilt of his chin, cackled incessantly. “Jess, what are you saying? Liam’s angry, go sweet-talk him!” Jess’s eyes were deep and dark, fixed on me like a snake finding its prey. Damp, sticky, and utterly unnerving. That’s how she got when she was angry—not saying a word, but forcing me to appease her. A classic diva tantrum, some would call it. But didn’t poor people deserve to have tempers too? I coldly averted my gaze, turning to Lucas. I asked, with what I considered utmost politeness: “I heard your family went bankrupt?” Lucas froze, then wrinkled his nose, his face openly hostile. “Liam, why do you smell like trash? My family isn’t bankrupt, and don’t come near me, I’m afraid I’ll catch something from you!” I smiled faintly. “Oh? Then why are you on the scholarship list? Could it be that young master Lucas wants to experience life as a scavenger too?” Lucas crossed his arms, rather imperiously. “Liam, Liam, I just wanted to experience how you lower-class people live. But you? You’re destined to pick scraps, always destined to pick scraps. I’ll tell you, it was Jess who deliberately let you use her smartphone so you’d be photographed, and that’s how I got your spot!” Oh, so that’s how it was. I lowered my lashes, a faint pang in my heart. Jess was a germaphobe; she never allowed me to touch her things. I remembered one time, it was raining, and she had a stomachache. I ran to buy her food, and in my haste, I fell and scraped my knee, covered in mud. She frowned at my wound, silent. I urged her to eat, but she simply tossed the food into the trash. She said, “Liam, don’t get hurt for me; it worries me. And also, I don’t like touching things others have touched. It’s dirty.” But her germophobia was fake, and her affection was fake too. She just found me dirty. The earthy smell of rain was exactly like the small shack where my grandfather and I lived. A shack piled high with scrap metal. Lucas was right. I made a living by selling salvaged goods. But I never felt ashamed because of it. 4 “Enough!” Jess suddenly roared. She seemed very tired, rubbing her temples. “Liam, it’s just a scholarship, twenty thousand dollars. Do you really need to fight with Lucas over it? If you need money, I can transfer you five hundred thousand right now.” Jess’s friends immediately chimed in. “Exactly, Liam, Jess still cares for you a lot.” “Liam, I’ll speak fairly. Jess even fell out with Lucas because of you before. She truly loves you.” “It’s just twenty thousand dollars, that’s barely the cost of a pair of shoes. Liam, just forgive Jess this time.” I felt a cold detachment. Twenty thousand dollars might not be much to them, but it was my grandfather’s and my food money for an entire year. Twenty thousand dollars might buy only one pair of shoes on Jess’s feet, but it was the hope I desperately clung to for survival. Last year, when the class representative announced the scholarship selection in the group chat, these spoiled rich kids were laughing and joking. “Who would go for that? Three thousand dollars for one meal?” “Exactly, exactly, I’d look down on anyone who applied for that. Are they really that poor?” Their lives revolved around money, money, and more money. Mine was different; it was filled with poverty, vulnerability, and helplessness. Yes, I was that poor. I needed that money. I couldn’t forget Lucas’s sneering expression when I submitted my application. Nor could I forget the fleeting look of embarrassment on Jess’s face. That day, I broke up with her. Jess refused, pulling me tightly into her arms, apologizing repeatedly. But her way of compensation was to have Lucas take my spot the following year. How ridiculous. Twenty thousand dollars might not be much. But as Jess said, I am materialistic, shrewd, and calculative. So, this was my last shred of dignity. 5 “Jess, you still don’t understand. I said we should break up last year, and you disagreed. So, I’ll say it again.” My voice was soft, yet it carried clearly to everyone in the room. All their faces darkened. I simply smiled and left the private room. Behind me, I faintly heard the sound of things smashing and voices trying to mediate. “Liam is so petty, Jess shouldn’t be with him anymore.” “He really went too far this time. I don’t get what twenty thousand dollars can even do.” … “Pauper,” “excessive,” “disgusting”—these words pierced my ears, but I didn’t care. Outside, it was raining, the sky a gloomy, hazy gray, obscuring my view. Sigh, a little sadness. But when I picked up my phone and listened to the entire recording, I felt much better. Not a single word was missed. It completely documented the truth of how I was wronged, and the fact that Lucas had deliberately taken my spot. I needed that money. I really, really needed it. Just as I finished deleting all of Jess and her friends’ contact information, my phone rang. It was Mr. Peterson, our neighbor. His anxious voice came through: “Liam, where are you? Come home quickly, someone’s here to collect money from your grandfather!” My heart lurched. My mind went blank for nearly three seconds, then I ran home as fast as I could. My grandfather was getting old, his health deteriorating. Not long ago, he’d been hospitalized due to illness. The scholarship money was precisely what I intended to use to pay off the debt. I had set a date with them, and they had agreed, but I never expected them to show up today to collect! My thoughts were a mess, growing more jumbled with every rapid step. Suddenly, I stumbled forward, falling straight into someone’s arms. “Liam? What are you running so fast for? Be careful you don’t fall.” I looked up. It was Iris, a senior from the lab. 6 I didn’t have time to explain to Iris. I quickly thanked her, intending to leave immediately. But Iris held onto me. “Are you in a hurry? If you are, I can drive you.” Without a second thought, I nodded. Iris’s eyes curved slightly, and she led me to her car. Because I was worried about my grandfather, I had chosen a local university when applying. Iris knew this; she had helped me submit my documents when I first joined the lab. The drive was silent. It was Iris who broke it first. “Liam, did something happen at home? Why were you running so fast?” “Yes, my grandfather is in trouble. Someone came to collect a debt.” Iris stopped asking questions. She floored the accelerator, keeping to the fastest possible speed all the way home. As soon as I arrived, I pushed open the car door, only to see my grandfather truly surrounded by those men! “Well, well, the young Mr. Davies is back.” “Don’t blame us for breaking our word. Someone insisted you pay today, so we couldn’t help it, could we?” My grandfather, his back stooped, was trembling. “It’s all my fault, an old man like me, burdening our Liam. I’ll kneel here for you, please don’t make trouble for a young man like him.” “Our Liam still has school, please don’t make things difficult for him! We will pay back this money!” Seeing my grandfather about to kneel, I quickly rushed forward to help him up. A bitter taste filled my mouth, and I clenched my fists before I could compose myself. I forced a calm tone. “Gentlemen, you just said someone demanded I pay today. Could you tell me, who made this demand?” The men exchanged glances. Finally, a burly man with a scar across his face spoke. “Young man, that’s none of your business. Just think about who you’ve had a beef with lately, won’t you?” Inexplicably, Lucas’s name flashed through my mind. The only reason I knew where their gathering was today was because Lucas had sent me a location. It seemed everything was his carefully orchestrated plan! “Can you give me one more month? I’ve applied for a student aid grant, and it should be disbursed in a month. I’ll also work odd jobs this month. Please, just one more month.” The burly man chuckled. “That’s not up to us to decide.” Suddenly, a voice rang out from outside the house: “I’ll pay it for him.”

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